Sam
by AnabellaHunter13
Summary: Sam is a Woodbury survivor trying to make her way at the prison. She finds solitude and then something... someone else. Cover credit: CopperMax
1. Those Days Are Over

I remember the days when the zombie apocalypse was just a pipe dream. When we all watched movies like "Night of the Living Dead" and wonder what it would be like if the dead walked the Earth.

Those days are over.

I wrench my knife out from the skull of a walker. Its blood splatters against my face, and I throw it to the ground. I'm on a run, just a supply run, with my dad, Sasha, Tyreese, and Michonne. Once we've cleared the place of those monsters we begin to ransack the place. The place in question is a long deserted Walmart. The place reeks of rotten produce and is mostly empty. I load up my backpack with whatever I can I find. We regroup at the entrance about half an hour later with our haul and count out what we've got. I managed to collect the most, which is pretty sad, because I only got about three cans of various vegetables, a couple canisters of powdered milk, and cough drops. Winter's coming you know.

We all squeeze into the silver Dodge Ram and my dad drives us away. We cruise along the empty roads and I look straight ahead, I'm squeezed in between Tyreese and Sasha and I'm what you call claustrophobic.

A couple months ago, I'd have never gone on runs, I didn't have to. I lived in Woodbury, where the Governor protected us and we had walls and a town, and I almost convinced myself that things in this world could be good again. But then he killed my mother, it was only God's grace that my father happened to be ill the day the Governor stormed the prison. I lived a lie, and I'm not proud of it. People still look at me funny, wonder if I'm right in the head. Because I lived there, but now I'm going back to my new home, the prison.

I don't talk much, to anyone really, I'm what you call 'anti-social', that's another reason people question my mental state. It's not like I don't have options, I knew some of them from before, like Patrick, he's my age, 15. And then there's Lizzy and Mika, who are both younger, but friends of my father. I don't care for Lizzy much, because if you ask me, she's the crazy one. There's also the one's I fondly call the 'knee biters' and are too young for me to properly befriend.

There are also people roughly around the befriendable age that were attacked by the people I used to call mine. There's Beth and her boyfriend, she's nice, but I don't think I'd be able to stand her for too long. Zack, he's funny, but my father wouldn't let me hang around him, because I'm his little girl and he doesn't do much in the way of trust older boys. And then Carl, the one I admire from afar. I've watched him change, do what his father says, become the farmer boy I know he's not. I've never talked to Carl much, only once or twice. Because at some point, with so few people, words must be exchanged at some point.

By the time I stir from my thoughts, we're rolling up to the prison and Carl and Rick are opening up the gates. He's not wearing his hat, hadn't for a while now. That's how I identified him at first. The boy with the sheriff hat. Those days are gone too. But secretly, I kind of want them to come back.

Tyreese throws the door of the truck open and I slide out. Immediately, the deafening roar of walkers assaults my ears. But soon it becomes white noise and I can hear other things again. We walk into the prison and I find Carol, I hand her my haul, she'll find it most useful as the main cook around here. After that I head to my cell in D block. It's a lonely little thing, even the curtain that acts as a door is plain and gray. And it's not like I have to share with someone and our cell choices must compromise, this is my own will. Inside I have my backpack, my only connection to Woodbury and the likes behind even that, it's pushed under the bottom bunk. Unlike most people here, I prefer to sleep on the top bunk. An unzipped sleeping bag hangs slightly over the edge and I have a pillow that's tucked underneath it. Also under my bed is my collection of my most prized possessions. Books. Stored under there are a good 25 books that I've squirreled away, that I've found on runs, or I've taken from the library- pardon me _borrowed_. Other than that, my cell is empty. But that's ok, I like it that way.

I climb up to my bed and I curl up on my side, hidden from view, that I only pull out now is the latest book I've started- Catch 22. And I think I like it.

I read and read and read until it's time to eat again and then I tuck my book away again and climb down. I walk alone to the dining hall and sit down beside Patrick, because there's not enough room to sit alone. But I don't talk, I just watch. I always watch, waiting for the day.

**AN: Please review! It helps me out a lot**!


	2. My Place

Sometimes, back before the world went to hell, teenagers would sneak out, and do… whatever it was that they possibly felt the need to sneak out for. I feel it within me to continue on that time honored tradition, and like all the others, I have my reasons. There are nights, not unlike tonight, that I frankly can't sleep. And so I flee, I flee to the outside, and I know the others do the same sometimes, I've seen them. They all have their places, the watch towers, the catwalk, the courtyard even. But me, my place is different, and I like it that way.

The lights have been out for roughly an hour now, and I can hear my counter parts in D breathing, even and relaxed. Very carefully, as though not to make a sound, I throw my sleeping bag off of me. I slowly creep down, my arms grip the bed frame and I lower inch by inch until my socked feet touch the cold, concrete floor. I then lace up my Doc Martens and over my loose army green t-shirt I put on my jacket which is a denim vest sewn to a light gray hoodie, as it turns out this is actually a warm pair. I slip my black beanie over my honey shaded hair. I slip on my fingerless gloves, because my place requires climbing. And I slide my knife into its sheath, just in case, because you just don't know anymore.

I stick my head past the curtain, just to make sure the coast is clear and then I slink out from my cell. My ears remain sharp for any noise other than silence- or its nearest companion of steady breathing. I make it down the stairs and out the hallway without so much as someone stirring in their sleep. I'm quick and quiet down the hallway, sometimes I have to think about where I'm going because I haven't been here for too terribly long.

I get to the outside and white moonlight from the full moon falls upon my skin. A brisk chill in the air reminds me how close winter really is. It tries to push through my clothes and I zip up my jacket in dispute. I know tonight is Daryl's night to guard, and he's especially sharp, so I'll have to be extra sneaky.

I crouch-run in and out between shadows, my eyes constantly on the watch tower, I think a couple times I'm pressed up against the dark wall and I stop breathing because I think I sensed movement. I work my way over to the catwalk, it's a slow but sure process. Eventually I'm off of Daryl-radar and I inch open the door to access the catwalk and ascend the stairs. My boot squeaks on a step and my heart thumps in my stomach. I gulp fiercely and tell myself no one heard me. I exit the stairwell and find myself on the catwalk. There's a small panel that peels back if I push it free from the concrete that so loosely holds it in place. I swiftly climb the link fence and push open the panel, it's not too big, but my body is slender enough to squeeze through. I'm pulling myself up onto the concrete ceiling that once kept prisoners in.

Everything here is concrete, concrete floors, concrete walls, concrete ceilings, concrete walkways, concrete roads, concrete watch towers, concrete hearts for concrete people. I cannot stand this concrete world. Save the field where we grow our crops and the little pond that strays just outside our fences, that's my eyes only relief . It's dull and drab and depressing. All things that make my heart sag. It's not as though they don't try to make the best of things, they really do. Story time for the kids, farming- which isn't my favorite by far, the library, even Patrick has his Lego's that he enjoys.

I feel like the longer I stay here, the more they try to make this place like Woodbury, distracting us from the real world. It's not all stories about how the prince saves the princess, it's "Watch out you gotta walker on your tail, hold on lemme get that for you." I know what's it's really like, I've never forgotten. And I know I'm a kid, and I know I shouldn't think this way, but I'm an observer, I take in my surroundings, it happens. This fake sense of serenity, it's bullshit.

I get to my feet on the concrete ceiling that is now under the soles of my shoes, taking a quick sweeping glance for anyone that might spot me. I'm clear. I reach upward and I can just barely grab the roof firmly with my arms stretched all the way. I pull up, my arm muscles taut with the strain of pulling up my body. I kick the building, searching for a secure foothold, finally my flailing feet grip the brick enough and I scale the wall. I let out one last heave and kick, my body topples onto the roof and I lay there for a moment. Not necessarily tired, I just like taking in the night sky, but giving my body a respite from the haul is nice too. After a moment, I get to my knees and then push myself to my feet. The roof is flat and leaves have collected from trees blown off course over many years, fortunately by now I've cleared a path to my place.

I walk carefully, as not to crunch any leaves, and not to make a noise to the people below me. About 30 feet from the edge of the roof is a raised platform that probably was the top to some furnaces, back when those still worked and heating the prison was a thing. I climb on top of the platform, there it is, and there it finally is. My place. It's not much, but the view is spectacular. I have a couple blankets up here, and binoculars that I have procured for myself from one of my first runs. Should I have told someone I had them? Absolutely. Will I tell them even now? Hell no. I sit down on one blanket and wrap myself up in the other. I grab the binoculars that are pressed against my boots and look around. There Daryl is, up in his watch tower, still oblivious of my presence. And there's the walkers, ever present as always, their roar is almost dulled up here, another reason why I treasure my place. They push against the fences relentlessly, they don't rest, they just eat. Are there more than usual?

I turn away, I can never look at them for too long. I watch through my extended eyes for a little while longer and then I set them down. I stretch out on my blanket and shut my eyes, I may or may not fall asleep, but as of the moment, my body leans toward the side of may not. I just listen.

Minutes go by, and suddenly, a voice.

"What are you doing up here?"

I try to act like I was totally shocked to hear him, but I wasn't, I heard him long ago, I heard the chain link rustling with an inexperienced climber, and then the grunts of trying to climb up here. And even the careless crunch of leaves. Jeez. He could've tried to make himself a little less obvious. But maybe he wanted me to hear him coming, he is too careful to be so noisy. Yes, I decide he has done this on purpose.

I open my eyes and sit up, there in front of me sits a pair of bright blue eyes not even the darkest night could dim.

"Carl?" I say. How did he find me? I was so careful, I'm always so careful.

"No, the other fourteen year old boy farmer." He teases, the corner of his lip turn up in a slight smirk.

I snort and roll my eyes, this must only be our third conversation, yet he seems so casual, like we do this every day. If only.

"The better question is, what are _you_ doing here?" I try to stay as calm as humanly possible when one is just a foot away from the most interesting boy the zombie apocalypse has.

"I followed you?" he points out the obvious. My lips flatten into a line and I give him a 'no-duh' look.

"But why, why me? And how?" I feel like I'm interrogating him, which is good. I need to pick things up in order to prevent future spottings.

"I've… uh… been seeing you come up here. And I wanted to see what was the big deal could be about this place." His cheeks flush slightly, I can tell he had to search for words other than 'I've been watching you.'

"Uh huh." I say, "Well, this is it. How ya feelin'?" I cast him a glance, while extending my arm to the view.

"Well Sam," his brilliant blue eyes bore into my every being, and I have to physically struggle not to squirm at the intensity of his glance, "I think the view is great."


	3. Changes

When the world went to shit, they say we all changed. In one way or another, tried to find some way to cope with this sudden and rapid alteration in our history. Some drank, others smoked, and if that didn't work, out came the knife, and out with the light in their eyes.

I'd seen all these things and more and I began to wonder if there was something seriously wrong with me for not doing any of the above. I mean I'm a teenager, we were already hormonal and dramatic and our own kind of insane before. These were all things that we did, even without walker provocation. But instead I kept to books, the only thing I knew wouldn't change. Because words are forever.

I think every inch of my face must be flushed red, and I think Carl's is too, because he looks away after a moment. And neither of us can bear to look at the other.

Every atom in my body demands that I flee, that I run, it's what I do. So before I even know what I'm doing, my blankets are gathered around my ankles, and I'm standing.

"Well, uh, it's was… nice to, uh, talk to you," I offer, my eyes flit around nervously, my heart going a thousand miles an hour. Get yourself under control, Sam! I tell myself. I'd like to say that I can't figure out for the life of me why I'm flipping out right now, but I do know. And it's a problem. A large one. I take a step backward, and the blankets seize up around my boots, my arms flail and I nearly fall off the platform. But Carl is up in a heartbeat-which at the moment is quite fast. And his strong arms steady me. For such a lanky boy, he sure has some muscle. Maybe this farming gig is paying off. I'm cationic for a moment and I think I'm just trying to recover from my scare. Carl's eyes are wide with concern and they look like they want to ask a million questions that he dare not speak aloud. His skin glows pale in the moonlight and his dark brown hair blows softly in the breeze. It's only gotten longer since I've been here. He could cut it I know. But I've seen him around, always with a slight air of defiance. He probably is just acting out against his long gone mother. Missing her, but not her haircuts. His hair is fluffier than normal, he must have showered earlier this evening. Even with its added fluffiness, the hair still trails past his ears and covers his neck. I gulp and realize I've been staring, again. I blink a few times and bend down so I don't have to look at him, untangling the stupid blanket around my feet.

"We've all got jobs to do, you know," or at least that's what Beth says, "The sun won't wait forever. And you've got to be up early to farm any way."  
He nods and that slight smirk with the touch of raised eyebrows comes back, "and you? What's your job?" It's almost like that stupid boy is mocking me.

I... I don't really have a job, it changes, I float around to wherever I'm needed. I'd like to answer with reading, but that's private, "I have stuff to do...things..." I swallow uneasily.

He nods again, and then a moment later he adds with a teasing tone, "Better get your rest then. This stuff and things sounds like really taxing stuff." His smirk turns into a smile and he's showing his teeth. I smile too. Because I can't find it within myself to not.

"At times," I add with a joking tone of my own. Then I crouch down at the end of the platform, letting my legs go over the end, my hands gripping the platform so tight my knuckles turn white in the silver moonlight.

"Gonna be alright there?" Carl asks, I can almost hear the smile in his tone.

I let out a grunt and stretch a little farther and my toes intercept the ground, "Yep, I can manage." I consider waiting for Carl to get down himself, but I don't know what I would say. So I start walking over to the edge of the roof. I crawl over the side and let myself fall the two feet this time. Luckily noise from this action was minimal, Daryl can't see me from here anyway. The chain link is still pulled back. Clumsy Carl, wouldn't wanna expose my place. But I can hear Carl coming to the edge and I'm starting to get nervous, when he's close enough to hear me I hiss, "fix the link when you climb down!" And then I expertly climb down the chain link fence. I race down the stairwell and start heading back to D Block. I'm not as careful this time, but I care less now, I'm going back and I'm sidetracked.

I make it safely back to my block and I kick off my shoes and remove my jacket and beanie. I climb up the ladder and lay down on my bunk bed. I wrap myself up in my sleeping bag and stare at the wall. All I can hear and all I can think about are Carl's words. They buzz in my brain and in my ears and they make my heart beat way faster than it probably should. I fall asleep thinking about how nice my name sounds when he says it.

**4 WEEKS LATER**

I haven't spoken to Carl since that night on the platform. I haven't gone back to my place either. It's too big of a risk. If he saw me, then haven't others inevitably spotted me as well? Maybe if I wait long enough, he'll forget, or maybe I will, and I'll feel safe visiting my place again. If it's even mine anymore, he knows where it is now, but does that make that place OURS?

By the time the sun crosses the horizon, I'm already awake. The beginnings of a new day's light illuminate my sheet. There's nothing to sleep in for anymore. Then again, one could make the argument that there's nothing to wake for anymore either. I choose to look on the brighter side.

It's still not cool enough to wear my jacket during the day, but it's too cold to get away with a T-shirt anymore. So today I pull out my green flannel shirt and pull it onto my shoulders. I button all the buttons save the top one and I roll the sleeves up to my elbows. Next I put on my dark gray skinny jeans and then my Doc's. I clip the holster to my knife sheath so it sits on my waist and I make sure my knife is clicked in. I braid my hair over one shoulder and slip my beanie on.  
"Samantha?" I hear my dad's voice from the other side of the sheet. His large silhouette dowses the available light to my cell, "You decent?" I try not to laugh. Decency doesn't exist in this world. Not anymore. 

Instead I reply, "Yeah," and slide the curtain open for him.

My dad is a rather large muscular man, the kind that would've scared the shit out of boys that might've tried to date me on two conditions 1. The world hadn't gone to shit, and 2. I wasn't me. He was about 6' 3" and I hadn't been gifted with his height. His hair was salt and pepper on the sides mixed with my hair color which was like a dull version of honey. His eyes had dark circles around them (but really, who didn't anymore?) and were bright brown. My dad is what you call a good southern man, and his accent is nearly as thick as Rick and Daryl's.

He leans against the cell entryway and rubs a hand over his stubble that covers all over the lower half of his face and I can already tell he hasn't come bringing good news. "Hey, Daryl, Zach, Michonne, Glenn, Tyreese, Sasha and I are going out on a run today." Is that all? It can't possibly be.  
"Great! I'll come with you!" I try not to get too excited, but it's been a while since I've left the compound and I'm getting a little antsy. I still haven't gotten myself a proper job.

He takes in a deep breath and his hand is rubbing his face again, "See, Darlin' that's the thing. I've been talkin' to Rick and them. And they agree with me. You should start stickin' to your chores 'round here. Seeing as none of the other kids are goin' on runs. We gotta keep a sense of humanity instilled in you kids, being the next generation and all. And sending you out there all the time, it ain't helpin'. Now I know you don't like it, but I've already talked to Carol and she said she'd welcome your help." My jaw drops. _No more runs? But, but I'm good! I can do runs just as well as anyone. It's what I'm best at! _

I close my mouth after a moment. Any argument is pointless, he won't change his mind. He never does.

"Ok." Is all I say, is all I _can_ say, at least without screaming at him telling him how wrong this is and how wrong he is. I push past him with crossed arms. I'll do what he asks, but I won't be happy about it.

A thought crosses my mind and I turn around and say it before I can stop myself 

"Per chance you find any books, I'm sure there is a collection of books around here that could use a few new friends." I mean my collection, but I infer the library. And then I'm gone, down the hall and outside to the pavilion.

Breakfast isn't ready yet, so I decide I might as well do my part and help Carol out. She's cooking eggs this morning and talking to Patrick over her shoulder, instructing him on what to do.

I wait for her to finish and then I tap her on the shoulder, her eyes meet mine and she gives a slight smile, "Hi Sam, your dad said you'd be helping out today! Why don't you check on the coffee and make sure it's coming along alright?" Her tone is somewhat Distracted, probably from trying to focus on a million things at once. So I go over to the pot of coffee which is steaming over a gas burner. I stir it around a couple of times, trying to prevent scalding it.

Patrick comes up beside me, standing a good 5 inches taller than I am, "Got yourself a real job I see."

I nod, stirring the pot some more, "Carol!" I call, I think it's ready!"

"Just turn off the gas," she replies, "I'll be there in a minute. Why don't you help out Patrick in the meantime, looks as though he needs a partner to keep him on task." Her tone is half joking, giving Patrick a hard time, but I still go with Patrick to see what he's up to anyway.

He's cooking up some of the venison that Daryl caught yesterday. I stand there idly, watching Patrick concentrate on the meat. Wouldn't want to screw up "Mr. Dixon's" well caught meal, as Patrick might say. He was always such a polite dork in that way.

Behind his large black glasses, Patrick's reddish brown eyes are narrowed. Eyes are such a funny thing. They come in so many different shades, and yet we define them with one word. Brown, blue, hazel, green. But they are so much more than this. Eyes show a person's life and how they're feeling and what they're thinking if not guarded carefully enough. But when it comes to color it changes so much, as diverse as the people they represent. For example, there's blue eyes, bright and brilliant like Carl's. And then there's the blue that looks as though you spilled the blue paint and the green paint and mixed into this color that isn't even worth looking at. Where the only benefit is having to take an especially long time to adjust to bright sunlight. That's what my eyes are like. So technically, Carl and I are put into the same category of eye color, but they are two entirely different mediums.

I look away from Patrick and look around to see who is up already. The entire Council is already out here. But they always are, earlier than the rest, our valiant leaders. Rick is awake too, but he's already taken to the fields. I admire the dedication that man has, to try and make things better for his son. It hits me that my father is trying to do the same. And all the sudden I know how Carl feels, that undying fire that blazes high with the will to try and prove himself worthy to his father and those around him.


	4. Humanity

They say in this world, it's easy to lose your humanity. But what is humanity anyway? Can it be gained as easily as it can be lost? How does one define the amount of humanity another possesses? Can humanity be measured in ounces and pounds? I mean you don't just walk around saying, "you sir, you have 7 pounds and 3 ounces of humanity." It just doesn't work like that. Humanity is so much more.

After breakfast I say goodbye to my dad and his crew, who are joined by the new guy, Bob. Dad tells me to be good while he's gone and do whatever Carol tells me, he says he'll be back before sunset. One must hope, right?

After the dust settles I go back up to the pavilion and help Carol scrub the dishes with Patrick. He scrubs and I dry. When almost all the dishes are on my right instead of my left I see Carl walk up out of my peripherals. His cheeks and forehead are smudged with dirt and his fingers are stained with earth and chlorophyll from weeds pulled up. He's wearing his flannel shirt too and his hair is damp with sweat against his forehead and neck. It's even longer now.

"Hey Patrick, Sam," he acknowledges me, "when are you gonna get outta here?" He's talking to Patrick again, he doesn't care when I'm done or what I do. Which if he actually asked me, I'm probably just gonna go back to my cell and read. I'm reading the third Harry Potter now, for the fourth time.

Patrick hands me the final dish, I wipe it down, "Right about now." He says. Patrick puts the brush down and wipes his hands dry on his pants. He looks at Carl for a moment, asking a silent question, and then Carl gives a silent answer, then Patrick looks back at me, "Hey Sam, you wanna come with us?" Getting invited to do stuff? This is a first.

I think about it for a moment, "What are y'all gonna do?"

Carl picks up a ball at his feet that I hadn't noticed before, "Well, my dad wants me to be a good kid and play, so we were gonna go play soccer out in the field." He tosses the ball at me and I catch it with ease, probably more than he expected, his eyes start to crinkle in the corners, "It'd be cool if you'd join us. Patrick's good and all, but we could use some real competition." It takes a second to realize he means me. My eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh really?" I smirk slightly, "Is that so? Well I guess I'll just have to come since you're desperate," I roll my eyes dramatically and Carl smiles so his teeth show, I like that smile the best. I set down the rag and make sure Carol doesn't need anything else done, she doesn't. She tells me to go have fun and be a kid. Right, because that's a thing anymore.

"So, you think you can take me and Patrick?" Carl asks

I chest pass the ball back to Carl and I can tell he is caught off guard. He catches the ball, but his eyes widen and he looks at me like he can't believe what I've just done, "I can take you." I'm not sure how the hell this conversation is coming so naturally to me, nor where my sudden burst of confidence came from. But I like it, it's better than stuttering every time I come within fifteen feet of Carl. I also don't understand how we haven't talked to for an entire month and yet he acts like this is an everyday occurrence.

"Wanna bet?" Carl's expression is dead set on mine now. His eyebrows are slightly pointed downward but his eyes sparkle with the idea of a challenge. Every word he speaks is competitive and he's eager for this kind of interaction, while Patrick's good and all, he's just not the assertive type- I didn't know I was either, but today I am.

"What am I gonna win?" I chuckle, I cross my arms and lift my chin confidently.

Carl narrows his eyes a bit and laughs slightly, he raises his eyebrows, "Wow, really stepping out there, I see." He bites his lower lip slightly and studies me a little more, like this is what he's been missing out on. Ha, is he sure wrong.

"Why not?" I shrug. Patrick is just standing there, eyes darting back and forth at our poor shot at witty banter.

"Alrighty then," Carl steps forward, to shake my hand, "Winner gets Michonne's next candy haul."

I consider the deal and stretch my hand out to meet his, his hand is warm and dirty, and as we shake on it, the dirt spreads to my hand, but I don't mind, "It's a bet. But you're gonna be sorry when I get the Big Cat." I taunt him with a singsong tone.

"Oh it's on," I hear Carl mutter and then, we all unanimously burst out sprinting to the field, without any previous discussion otherwise.

The sprint is good and hard and Carl and I are nearly tied, with Patrick at the back, probably something to do with his asthma. Carl throws the ball ahead so he can run better. I speed up chasing after it and he's on my tail. My feet pound the concrete and pound softer as we get to the grass. Carl passes me for a moment and then I give one last big push and I get to the ball first. But he steals it out from under my foot an instant later.

"I win," his smirk is killer and I have to bite my tongue to make sure I stay focused. He is victor, but only for now. The game has yet to begin.

We wait for Patrick and he walks up a few minutes later, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Carl and I exchange a serious glance and we both agree that Patrick should serve as mediator instead of playing.

"Shall we get you another partner to play against me?" I ask, nodding toward the younger kids over by the fence.

Carl shrugs, "Whatever, maybe we can get a real team going."

"Bet's still on though," I remind him.

"Well duh, I'm not missing out on that kind of opportunity," he elbows me slightly, and I elbow him playfully back and we head over to the other kids. Patrick catches up, he's breathing easy again.

As we get closer my skin begins to prickle, something is very wrong here, the kids are near the fence laughing, at the walkers. Laughing. There isn't anything funny about a flesh eating monster.

"Nick look over here!" Lizzie calls and the others laugh and cheer.

"Nick! Nick over here!" shouts Luke. They're all smiling and waving and it makes my gut wrench.

"Hi Nick!" they all cheer on and off, not in time or in rhythm, they just do over and over until I just want to scream at them all to stop.

"What the hell are they doing?" I mutter under my breath

Carl shakes his head slightly and pushes past me, the soccer ball settled into the crook of his arm, "You're naming them?" Carl's lip curls up in disbelief. I can't say I blame him.

Little Mika speaks up first, she's only ten and might just not know better. But that's a far shot, "Well, one of them has a nametag, so," she gives a slight, innocent shrug, "we thought all of them should."

This is why it can't be this way. This is why we can't shelter them and ourselves from this. They start believing they aren't monsters anymore. That somehow, these brain dead freaks have regained some humanity even after passing. And it's absolutely ridiculous. Impossible. There are enough living humans without the humanity and morality in this world, they've gone cold like the walkers. Soulless and impartial to who they kill and why. We just live among monsters now. Dead and alive. That's why sheltering is impossible, because you end up like this. Naming walkers. Unbelievable. I roll my tongue over my chapped lips. I cross my arms uncomfortably and pop a disapproving hip.

Carl is quick to correct Mika, "They had names when they were alive. They're dead now." He reminds her. He reminds all of them.

Lizzie curls her lip at Carl like he's the sick one, "No they're not." She shrugs one shoulder, "They're just different." There's no hesitation to the execution, no remark that what she's saying is wrong. She wholeheartedly believes the words she speaks.

Carl's eyes widen for a moment, "What the hell are you talking about? They don't talk, they don't think, they eat people. They kill people!" he grits his teeth slightly, furrowing his brow.

Lizzie is quick to counter him, "People kill people. They still have names."

Carl lets out an angered sigh, I want to step in, but I don't know how. I just watch, I watch like Patrick. I just do what I'm best at, observing.

He goes on to ask Lizzie if she's watched the change. And I shudder remembering my own experience. Lizzie sets her jaw and her eyes go cold to Carl's, "Yeah. I have."

Carl still won't let up from his lecture mode, and I can see him breaking out, from his farmer mold that he was put into so unwillingly, he knows the truth. Like I do. Carl and I see eye to eye that way. "They aren't people, and they aren't pets, so don't name them." He chastises. Ok, they've had enough. I grab Carl's arm, and pull him back towards the empty field. We won't have a team but there's still a game to be played. I have to look on the bright side, right?

Carl looks at me, and then releases another sigh, "Come on," I say quietly. He stares at me for another moment and then we leave. Lizzie mutters something to the others about reading and they go in the opposite direction.

Halfway back to the field area, Carl hands me the ball, "I, I don't want to play anymore." His lips draw tightly together. And I know what it is. It isn't a want, it's a can't. He's as sickened by the idea of playing kid as I am.

"You can have the candy." I tell him, trying to give a small reassuring smile. But he just nods and fumbles at his waist for the gun that isn't there. I look at that boy that walks back towards the prison and realize he is trying to win back the humanity that he tried to hide losing in the first place.


	5. Lost

It's been a while since I've felt truly lost, I've always had a nice sense of direction and a fair bit of common sense. You can lose your way though, stray off the straight and narrow. You have to nowadays, just to survive. We all do the worst kinds of things to stay this way. I think the last time I really felt lost was when I lost Mom and Noah. He was only thirteen, Noah, he and Mom had to fight. I stayed behind with Dad. He was sick, I was sick. When no one came back, not even the Governor, I was lost. I was so lost, my family, knocked in half before my eyes.

I read in my cell until it was time to start fixing dinner. I found Carol in the library, story time. She was reading the kids Tom Sawyer, she didn't notice me at first, but I noticed something else. Carl. He was crouched behind a bookcase. Watching, but, for what? I crouch-ran over to him. He looked at me and pressed a finger to his lips and silently hand gestured to pay attention.

Carol closed the book and Luke asks if he should go take watch. Take watch for what? I bend forward and I'm worried Luke will spot us. I grab the closest thing to me, which happens to be Carl's hand. I instantly try to reclaim it, but his stays firm around mine. He lets out a shaky breath. Air stops its exchange in my lungs as Luke passes by cluelessly. I force myself to exhale and focus on Carol again. She turns around and grabs a box.

Patrick stands up, "Ma'am, I'm not feeling well, may I be dismissed?"

"Patrick," Carol draws her lips together with disapproval, "just because we don't feel well doesn't mean the world stops being dangerous. We have to push through."

"With all due respect ma'am, I don't wanna yack on anyone." Patrick blushes slightly. Carol nods and Patrick gets up and rushes off, not paying us any mind. A lump forms in my throat. Whatever it is, it made Patrick nervous enough to leave.

"Today we're learning how to use knives. How to slash and stab-" I don't listen to anymore. I'm shocked, so they'll shelter them from the truth, but they'll train them? Like child soldiers? This place is no better than Woodbury. My chest seizes up, and I can't breathe, but this time for a different reason. I trusted this place! I trusted these people! Dad said it was different, but isn't, not really.

I take one look at Carl and something tells me that this isn't supposed to be happening. Before I can think anything through, Carl has released my hand and he was on his feet, standing, facing Carol. I'm still cationic with shock, all I can manage to do is watch. The way Carl's hand nervously balled up smacking against his leg. He just stares, and Carol sees him now. He swallows hard and reaches down for my hand, pulling me up, and he walks. And I follow, because I think I'll start screaming if I stay here any longer.

"This is bullshit." Carl growls, shaking his head as we walk down the hallway. I let go of his hand, but I don't walk away. I can't, never before have Carl and I talked so much in one day, and I don't think I can drop it now.

His eyes are wide and hurt, "You get this? Don't you?"

I nod, I'm lost for words, I could just admit to watching and observing everything, but that might be considered SLIGHTLY creepy.

"I see it, you know, the way they treat you. They treat me the same way. And it's bullshit. You know what's out there. I know what's out there. Why do they try to hide it. And then, teach them HOW TO USE KNIVES." Carl's brow is deeply furrowed and his teeth are gritted. His jaw is so set that I'm afraid it might break. His eyes are alive and roaring with that fire that only wants to prove itself. I want to agree with him, but fueling the fire. It needs to be tended, tamed, so instead I take a deep breath and meet his eyes calmly. An angry Carl gets us nowhere

"I'm sure your dad doesn't know. I bet the rest of the Council doesn't either." My voice is soft and gentle.

"I did what I had to do! And... And they punish me for it!" And I get it now, this isn't about the knives anymore. He's venting.

"Carl,"

"I'm fine! Those kids are the sick ones!" I think he's near crying.

"I know you're good Carl. You aren't lost. You try, I see that. Every day." Words are coming out before I can control them.

"You do?" His voice cracks and he is looking me dead in the eyes. My voice catches in my throat and I only nod.

After a moment, I find my voice, "Why don't you wear the hat anymore?"

He cocks his head at me, and then exhales exhaustedly, "It's not a farming hat,"

I raise one eyebrow and counter, "But you aren't a farming boy, now are you?" On that note I turn on my heels and leave.

I head out to the pavilion and wait for Carol. I sit at a table with my chin on my hands. The crew on the run still hasn't come back, and it's starting to get late.

Carol walks up behind me and rests a hand on my shoulder, "You can't tell anyone, it has to stay a secret."

I don't reply, instead I stand and walk to where we make the food, "What do we need to do for dinner."

"Well Hershel brought us these cucumbers, and there's still some leftover venison. And I guess whatever the crew brings back will have to do. So if you could get to peeling the cucumbers, that would be good." Carol begins to do what she needs to, and neither of us brings up the knives again.

For the life of me, I've never peeled anything. But I figure it can't be hard. So I start in the middle and I go all the way around, I cut off the ends and then slice up the cucumbers sliding them into a bowl as I go. Onto the next one, everything is very systematic and soon I'm finished.

I eat dinner next to Patrick like I always do and Carl acts like nothing is wrong. Maybe it's not. Maybe I'm misimagining things. I go back to observing, because everything seemed right that way, can't screw anything up if I don't speak.

I watch Patrick and Carl interact, and they seem so natural. Patrick says something funny, and Carl's eyes glow with glee, his eyes crinkle at the corners and he laughs as he puts down another mouthful of cucumbers. His head tilts back slightly with the laugh and then once Carl swallows he gives Patrick a snappy reply. Which Patrick starts to laugh, but gets caught off by a coughing fit. Carl smacks him on the back and he seems to get over it. He shortly after excuses himself. Carl and I exchange glances and he opens his mouth to say something, but he's cut off by Karen calling that they're back. But her call is quickly overwhelmed by the drone of Walkers, moaning for food. They've definitely been building up in size for weeks now. Even with the constant shift of people gouging out the remaining life those Walkers had. I jump up and start sprinting to the prison entrance, Carl following closely behind. The cars pull to a stop and I stand in front of them, panting viciously. I wipe my brow that's beaded with sweat. And slowly everyone piles out and Daryl dismounts his motorcycle and he walks over to me. My gut drops. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. Daryl and I don't normally talk to each other; he just hadn't ever taken much of a liking to me. Carl senses something wrong too. His hand rests on my shoulder, a silent gesture to say that he's still here.

"Sam, it's... your dad."

I know now, there ain't a point in asking. And I look around me, but I don't recognize anything. I am lost.


	6. Sick

Some words don't mean the same thing they used to. But 'sick' isn't one of them. It's always been here and always will. But there are different kinds of sick. There are the sick that cough and there the sick that kill. But I think I'm a different kind of sick. A new kind.

I feel like I'm going to throw up, but I also feel like my stomach is empty. I feel empty. I feel numb. I wanna curl into a ball and die but I also wanna run away until my legs stop working. So I meet in the middle and stand paralyzed, staring at Daryl.

"He sacrificed himself to save Bob. It was too late for Zack though. He did a good thing. He was a good man. I'm sorry kid." Daryl looks tired, not as much physically, rather he's tired of losing people.

I see him, Bob, the new guy. Why does he get to live?! Why not my dad! Bob didn't have anyone. And now neither do I.

I want to scream at him that he deserves to be dead and he shouldn't be here now, but instead, my chest heaves and I can't hold back the pain anymore. Tears form in my eyes and streak down my cheeks. I run, but not away. Just to my cell. I slam the prison door shut and then my curtain. I curl up on my bunk and wrap the sleeping bag around me.

Desperation boils in my gut and spreads up to my throat and it chokes me. This isn't real. This can't be real. I throw the sleeping bag to the ground. I'm still choking. My hands claw at my throat trying to relieve the invisible pressure. I'm insane. Or at least headed that way. After a while I lose all energy and I stop writhing and I'm just lying there. Panting, in a cold sweat. My eyelids droop and I pass out from exhaustion.

"Sam?" I hear a voice and I don't recognize it at first and I think it's my dad and I'm excited because he came back for me. Then it calls again and the pain of losing him drowns me all over again. Then there's a coughing fit.

"Patrick!" I sit up, and I jump down, I stumble, and I slide open the sheet. I don't open the door though, something tells me not to. He looks awful. His shirt is doused in sweat along with his skin. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

"I," he breaks out in another fit, "heard about," more coughing, "Your dad."

I nod, choking on my own air. I can't think about this now, Patrick's more important, "You need to like, take a shower, or lay down, or something! You look... Horrible!"

His coughs consume him again and I think he nods. Then he goes stumbling off towards the showers, coughing up his lungs.

I decide I can't stay in my cell any longer. I need my place. So I put on my jacket, I cinch the waist ties and slide my beanie on. I wiggle my fingers through my fingerless gloves and I forgot to remove my boots on from earlier, so I'm ready to go.

One more thing. I tell myself. I open the prison door just enough to get out and leave it cracked. No point in making more noise. I sneak next cell over to my dad's cell, door still open, all belongings where he left them. I grab one of his shirts that he left on the bed. I just need something, anything, to remind me of him again. I leave the cell and creep down the hallway to the outside. I'm not as careful as I should be, hell, I don't even know who's on guard. But I don't think they would stop me from doing anything. It's not like I'm finding the best place to hang myself. I just need to breathe.

I make it to my place without any unforeseen encounters. I cuddle the t-shirt and press it against my face, absorbing the scent I translated to mean safety so long ago. I lie on my back, ignoring the chill that wants to freeze my heart. I study the stars and think about the constellations like my dad taught me. Tears slide down my face again, this time with a much less violent effect. I just lie silently and occasionally I let out a shallow, sobbing breath.

I know death is inevitable, especially in the world we live in today, but it's sudden and unforeseen all the same. I had him when we lost Mom and Noah, and now I have nothing except his t-shirt and the spirits that linger in my mind as aid.

The longer I lie there, the more I realize I want Carl to find me. To hold my hand and tell me that it'll be ok even though it never is. But then I lie there longer still and I know he isn't coming. He has better things to worry about than me.

I hope his dad made it home ok. I'd like to think we aren't BOTH orphans now. Orphan, that's what I am, an orphan.

He'd want me to go, I know he would, and I will. I have to. We can't just stop anymore. People die every day, and maybe you can't just swallow it like medicine, but it mends like a scar. A permanent reminder that has healed.

But I will stop, just for tonight, and relish the things he taught me and the fond memories we share. Only I have them now, and I must carry them on. Yes. I will do that. Because he'd do that for me.

At some point, the scent on his shirt lulls me to sleep. And I'm jolted awake by the screams of many and a more vivid one that screams "Walkers in D!"

It's daylight, but still pretty early. Moving now would give away my place. And I've already had so much taken from me. My hand goes to where my knife is. SHIT. The one thing I forgot. So I cling to my blankets and try not to think about those whose lives hang in the balance.

My body calls for many things, to run, to help, to stay put. But mostly the first two. It's only instinct after all. But I'm useless without a weapon. And going to place with the weapon requiring while trying to acquire a weapon seems like a bad situation. I'm a despicable human being. I am sick. _Why don't I go help? Because, you can't help. You'd just be walker food. Ain't no point in going. _I'd like to think Dad would agree with my decision, he wouldn't want me in harm's way. But he also wouldn't want me to be a selfish bitch.

_Fine. I'll leave_. _I'll find the ones who've escaped. Is it enough?_ It'll have to be. So, with much more caution I get down, and I leave the shirt. It may be the only one left. I must preserve it. I carefully make my way to the other escapees, Lizzie, Mika, Luke, Carl is over there, with Maggie and Michonne, where's Patrick? Why hasn't he gotten out yet. It's not like he was a particularly good killer. He was so kind though. He'd never hurt a fly. I expected to see more people. Where are the others from Woodbury?

"You're ok," words of relief swamp my ears. I was so busy looking for Patrick, I hadn't noticed Carl approach. That's a first. I blink rapidly and turn toward him, he's caught me off guard alright?

"Yeah, but where's Patrick?" The words slur out of my mouth and I grab at the sleeves of my jacket urgently. My wide eyes meet his wide eyes.

"I... I'm not sure. He's probably just... caught up in there. He'll be ok, he has to be." I don't think he's trying to convince me.

I think about seeing Patrick outside of my cell and I start doing that thing where I choke on my own air again. Observe Sam, just observe.

Lizzie and Mika are huddled next to Luke and all of them are wide eyed and scared. They don't talk, they just watch. It's all any of us can do. Maggie and Michonne are talking in hissed voices and Michonne is leaning to one side and one ankle is bloody. What...what happened?

And then my attention goes to Carl. There's something that's changed. Same magnificent blue eyes, same long, sweaty dark brown locks, but now. The sheriff hat is pushed onto his sweaty head. Among all the fear and dread and loss and pain, a faint smile forms on my face. Carl catches it, and nothing has to be asked or reviewed. He smiles back faintly.

I feel the warmth of his fingers lacing through mine in some unspoken agreement. We wait together. Maybe an eternity goes by while we wait for the others to emerge from D Block.

There aren't screams anymore, just the drone of Walkers who are protesting not getting to join in on the fun. People are coming out now, Woodbury people, children. And then Carol, she takes Lizzie and Mika inside. Whatever they're doing, it can't be good. We wait a while longer.

And then I see a face. Rick. He's alive. Oh thank God he's alive. Carl's hand leaves mine the instant after I identify Rick and he's tackling his father in a hug an instant later. Something is wrong, because Rick is reluctant to hug his son back. He said something before Carl made it to him, but it didn't register in my mind. After a moment, Rick embraces his boy. Still no Patrick, a lump forms in my throat.

I look past Rick and Carl expectantly. I notice Rick forces Carl to step back. Carl says something about using a gun and Michonne justifies it. Rick doesn't seem too bothered. You do what you have to. Rick isn't stupid, he knows this. Rick asks Michonne if she's ok, Michonne nods and Maggie asks the question that all burns in our minds. What happened? Rick starts to speak, and this time I listen, full on, I move my head and everything. A woman walks by, grieving her lost child. The lump grows.

"Patrick got sick last night. Some kind of flu, it moves fast. We think he died and attacked the cell block last night." No, the lump is choking me now. It can't be true. Patrick can't be dead. He just can't. But he can. I saw him. He was bad. Real bad. I just didn't realize how bad. If I had known, no if I hadn't been so SELFISH. Stop. I tell myself, you can't blame yourself now. It's done. The past is in the past.

But he was sick. And so am I. The only difference is I'm alive and he's not.


	7. Real

Sometimes you have dreams that you wish were real. Where everything is so fanatically wonderful and amazing that you actually believe it could be real. But other times you wish the real stuff was a dream. And you try and try and to wake up, because everything seems so wrong and it only seems to get worse the longer you go on, and you really start to believe that it's a dream. But at some point you come to terms. Because it's real. This is all real.

Carl looks at his dad in disbelief. Not Patrick. Please not Patrick. Rick tries to calm Carl down, but even from a distance, I can see his shoulders sink and he begins to curl up slightly. Then he straightens back up. I just want to walk up to him and give the poor kid a hug. Patrick was his best friend, he was mine too. But I'm not looking half as bad as Carl. Maybe my grief is just numbed out, I can't feel any worse, I'm at my max for pain. Because I feel like between the loss of my two closest counterparts I should be done. But instead I'm just thinking about the boy in his sheriff hat.

He was there for me, shouldn't I be there for him? Before I can stop myself, I'm walking, next thing I know my hand is on Carl's shoulder. I'm not being intrusive, I'm just there. A silent reminder.

He turns around slowly, and I take a small step backward. But he takes one forward. And slowly almost reluctantly, as if he's nervous about what he's doing, but he also doesn't care at the same, his arms wrap around me in a hug. I'm caught off guard for a moment, but I unstiffen and hug him back. My heart pounds nervously in my chest, and Carl's chin rests on my shoulder and he shakes a little as he lets out a sob. I swallow roughly, and run my hand gently over his back.

His shuddering breath flutters against my ear for a moment, and then Rick speaks again and so he pulls away, turning to face his dad.

"I know he was your friend," Rick crouches just enough to look Carl in the eye, but Carl's head is hanging and he lets out another shuddering breath. I nearly reach out for him again, but instead I hold my wrist and just try and breathe.

"He was a good kid," Rick continues, "We lost a lot of good people." But how many? The question burns desperately in my mind. How many have we lost, how many have we left, and how long can we hold on?

Rick stands back up and his attention is off Carl now, onto Maggie, "Glenn and your dad are ok," he reassures her, "But they were in there." Maggie nods, releasing a undeniable sigh of relief, "ya shouldn't get too close to anyone who might've been exposed." Rick warns us, he scans all of our faces, even mine, "at least for a while."

Carl grabs my hand and we run over to Michonne.

"Carl, all of you," he nods at us and we help Michonne away. Rick is zoned out now, staring at the ground, hands resting on his hips, worried about what he's gonna do.

As we walk to C Block, I can tell Carl is trying to hide his disorientation. I know, because I'm hiding mine too. I think I'm doing better though. This disorientation can only be associated with the loss of someone close to you. It makes my fingers shake and my breaths forced. By the time we get Michonne to Beth, I'm helping Carl as much as he's helping Michonne. We start to disband at Michonne's cell, I release Carl's hand, and I begin to walk back to D. But I can't go there. Even my home has been wrecked. Suddenly I'm very glad I left my dad's shirt at my place.

So instead I head to the pavilion, hoping to find Carol. There must be something I can do.

But all that is interrupted, "Sam! Hey, wait up! Please," his voice cracks on the word please. And I stop and I turn around. He's walking my way, and his eyes are foggy with pain. What does he want with me? What could he possibly want with me? My eyes meet his sad ones. And he half runs the rest of the way. His hand takes hold of mine like he never intends to let go. "Let's go to your place." His voice is still shaky and broken. But it's his and it's real. He's real. I nod, alright, whatever will make him feel better.

"We'll have to be careful." I tell him, trying to keep my tone light.

He sniffs and clears his throat, a slight smirk fights for a place on his grief stricken face, "I'm very careful." His eyes roll slightly, and the smirk becomes more prominent.

"No clumsy Carls allowed, now." I shake a scolding finger and he actually laughs.

"Alright," his voice squeaks a little. Ah puberty. I can imagine it's done this boy justice. After all, one isn't simply born with that a nice face and wonderfully deep voice. Wait. Did I just think that?

"I'll try my best," his smirk is back to its usual melting fullness. His eyes are just barely crinkled at their corners. And I almost forget that I'm grieving and he is too. Sometimes, grief buries you. But other times, you have to bury grief.

We masterfully sneak up to my place and it's a lot different during the day. But I must say, the view is enjoyable.

I take off my jacket, because it's too warm in the day's direct sunlight.

"How can it be sunny on a day like this?" Carl demands, "It shouldn't be sunny and bright when we've lost so many. Patrick, your dad." His attention goes completely to me as he realizes his slip up.

My heart feels stabbed at the reminder. His hip is pressed up against mine, because the platform isn't very big. My hand and Carl's are still one. I draw my knees to my chest and wrap the free arm around my legs, resting my chin on my knees. The pain balls up in my chest and a distorted choking noise escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

Carl bites down hard on his lip, "God Sam. I'm sorry. I'm just so stupid sometimes." I shake my head, "I can't believe I feel half a right to pain and weakness and you lost your dad. Your family."

I shake my head again, "He was your best friend. You're entitled to grief."

"He was yours too." Carl's words are barely a whisper.

I nod and a shuddering exhale blows past my lips.

I swallow hard, and use my free hand to wipe the tears that have started to form with the heel of my palm, "Why did you become a farmer in the first place?" I ask, changing the subject. I'm not too fond of being the center of attention. I'd rather be there for other people.

"Because my dad wanted me to. And I couldn't let him down," his voice drops to where I can just barely hear it, "not again."

Again? How did he let down Rick the first time? "Yesterday, you said you did what you had to. But what, exactly, did you do?"

Carl's bright blue eyes are red with tears that have already fallen, and that might fall some more if he continues. I'm about to tell him he doesn't have to say anything, but then he does, "I killed someone. Not a walker, a human. A living breathing human, with a soul, and a sense of pain, and a family. Me. I did it. It was real." His eyes are scared, like he's worried how I'll take it. But how can I take it? He did it. It's done. It can't be changed. It was real. This is real. There's no waking up. But somehow, even through the pain and the loss and the misery of reality, I managed to find a good. And the good has done bad things. But who hasn't? At least he recognizes it. I see it in his eyes, he knows it's wrong what he's done. And that's ok. He's good, he's my good. And for the first time in days, I'm almost glad this is real.


	8. Monsters

There are monsters everywhere. There are the obvious ones, that are out to devour the flesh of the living. But there are also the less obvious ones, the ones inside ourselves. They tell us to do bad things, things that are not us. They make us do things we aren't proud of and try to us into monsters. No one is without these monsters, for if not, we wouldn't be human.

I tell Carl this. And while he looks relieved, he also looks shocked. Well and truly shocked. "That was... deep." his brow furrows, and a whole new light claims his eyes as they study me.

"Is that a problem?" I look at him inquisitively

"No," he shakes his head

"You hesitated," I lift a teasing eyebrow

He cheeks flush, "No I didn't." he looks flustered, but his eyes are still bright, "There's nothing wrong with it, it was just... unexpected." his eyes dart nervously, "Not to say you can't be deep. It's just, you're normally so quiet, I just... Ah forget it." His entire face is red now.

"Being quiet leaves a lot of time to think." I shrug. He nods and I'm still very aware of his hand intertwined with my mine, and the exact pressure of his body next to mine. And I'm also thinking about my messy hair and my dirty clothes and body which is overdue for a shower, but shit happens.

I think about Patrick again and how good he was and how impossibly nice and sweet he was to everyone, "The good ones never last. Only the bad and the weak survive. Patrick had too much good to live in this world." The words bleed out of my mind and through my mouth, releasing into the air. I pause for a moment and consider telling Carl. How I saw Patrick in his last moments, the last one he spoke to. I saw Patrick before he died and did nothing to help. My arms start to shake uncontrollably. I can't do it. I'm scared Carl will reject me for it. That he'll hate me because I was too selfish to try and get Patrick to someone to who could've saved him, saved everyone. I'm terrified any bond we had will be shattered. All because my monsters made me ignore the obvious. _I have monsters too, can't you see Carl? It's not just you_. I don't say anything.

I rest my head back on my knees, and I wrap my one free arm tightly around my legs, trying to control the shaking, "I understand what you're going through, with your dad and all."

I look at him with confusion for a moment, but then I remember the stories that have gone around the prison. Why Beth tends to Judith, the baby that's not her own. The way Carl looks at Judith with such love only a proud older brother can provide.

His mom, Carl lost his mom.

He gears up for another story that I'm scared will break him, and I want to stop him, I really do, but he's already beginning before I can.

"It was nearly a year ago I lost my mom. Out of all the things this damn world could've taken her with, it had to be child birth." He grits his teeth, his eyes blink hard with images of the past, "I was there, I had to put her down." His voice chokes up, and I grimace. I can't figure out for the life of me why he's doing this to himself. Letting all of the pain bleed out. But sometimes, you just have to be sad. And I guess this is his way to let it out.

My voice is low and I can't control its shakiness, "At least you got to say goodbye." I never had that with any of my family.

He nods, his tone somber, "I did have that much."

"You had your dad." I tell him. His gaze drifts off.

He swallows and his sneakers push against my boots, trying to distract himself. "My dad, he used to be leader before my mom died. And... He kind of lost it when she did. He saw things that weren't there. He heard things." I look at Carl in disbelief. Maybe he does get it. He lost his mom and his dad in a way. I think about Rick and I know he's not a farmer either. The Grimes' men are fighters, not farmers. I let go of his hand and I wrap my arms around his lean chest.

I feel his heart beat rapid against my ear, and his arms embrace me too, after I moment I speak up, "We should be getting back. And I think you should talk to your dad. About Carol and the knives. He needs to know." I let go and I stand up, offering Carl a hand.

Carl takes my hand and we're face to face again, he hands me my jacket, and I take it. Our fingers brush for a moment, "I know what I said, but I think they should continue. I've thought about it, and I think the kids should be able to protect themselves like we did. But I also don't think they should bullshit them into believing everything's ok." His eyebrows are knit with seriousness. And I nod, agreeing. We climb down and part ways for real this time.

I find the pavilion empty and decide that food must be being served in the mess hall for dinner. I open a thick door with a hard, quick pull and step into the hallway. Its winding mysteries make the air cooler than the outside and I slide on my jacket again. My footsteps echo throughout the silent coordinator, I have to think my way through to access the mess hall. I follow the dark and dank hallways until there's a light at the end of the hallway and I almost run to grab open the door. These hallways have always been a bit eerie, but to think that Patrick wandered them to the showers makes my stomach churn.

When I reach the mess hall, I close the door behind me and I walk over to the swinging doors to enter the kitchen. I find Carol at a sink, there's some cans stacked on a counter and the window to the mess hall is open. The gray is overwhelming. Gray like the polo Patrick used to wear. Carol is working alone now, that Patrick's gone. My chest heaves at the weight of everything piling up, but I force it back down. I'm supposed to help Carol, those were Dad's words. I can at least respect his last wishes, can't I?

My heart feels like it's in my throat and I swallow hard so that I can speak, "What do you need help with?" I walk up beside her. She stands about two or three inches taller than me. Her gray hair is messy and she's washing her hands, trying to clean them of blood and memory. I recall her emerging from D Block, the heart of the attack and taking Lizzie and Mika back in with her. I wonder what they saw.

"You shouldn't be here," Carol chastises me, wiping her hands dry on a dish rag. Her worn blue-gray eyes study me with concern, "I'm exposed, you aren't safe."

"I was around Patrick," I shake my head at her, "I'll be fine, you can't do this on your own."

She gives me a disapproving look and lets out a sigh, the corners of her mouth pulled tightly, "You can open up the cans over there. Five should be enough now." the word 'now' hangs dead in the air like the people it implies.

My work is fast and quick, and soon the beans are in the pot and before too long their cooked up. Carol sets out the bowls and the spoons and I take my share and head to the spot I'd normally take. I sit alone now, without Patrick as company, and I'm left to my own thoughts again.

The mess hall is one of the largest areas of the prison, in terms of open spaces. Like everything else, it's gray and depressing. Late evening light seeps through a window foggy with grime and time. There are tables with attached seats. In total there are around fifteen tables with six seats attached to each. There's an observation tower connected to the wall in the middle of the room. I can't recall it ever being used for our purposes. Facing me, about 25-30 feet away is the kitchen area. There's the window that we distribute the food from and has iron bars that can slide down to protect the kitchen staff, back when this place held prisoners. I'd like to say dangerous people, but we've got plenty of those. About five feet from the window are the swinging doors to enter the kitchen. The kitchen itself is obscured by a wall that makes it unseen, save through the window. To the left of the kitchen wall is the way I walked in from the hallway. At the other end of the mess hall is a door that extends to the C Block.

I used to think that the prison mess hall was like a high school cafeteria. Where each group of people had their own table and they kept to it. Now, there is still some similarity, but now the room isn't loud and warm with conversation, but cold and somber like the dank hallways. We're missing so many, and now we're separated, the exposed and the clean. This is as much instruction as we've been given thus far, but I fear more is soon to come.

Rick, Carol, Hershel, Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn claim one table, normally Tyreese or Sasha would join them, but now Tyreese sits by himself, and Sasha isn't anywhere to be seen. I look at Tyreese again, alone? Tyreese is never alone. Where's Karen? Then I notice his black eye, and his fatigue stricken face. The dirt on his hands, the sweat that soaks his shirt, the way his one good eye scans the crowd of us suspiciously. Something is wrong. Then I notice Rick, he maintains one eye on Tyreese while he shovels down another spoonful of Pork 'n Beans with a bandaged hand. My brow furrows further, but I tell myself it isn't my business, and if I needed to know, I would.

On my side of the hall, Beth holds Judith at a table with Carl, Hershel, Lizzie, Mika, and Luke. If there was an empty spot, I'd be tempted to move. But another thing alarms me, why would Lizzie and Mika sit with Carl? Why not their dad. Unless. And then it hits me. I'm not the only orphan.

Along with Sasha, David and Dr. S are missing as well. Bob sits at a table with survivors that didn't come from Woodbury and a deep rooted hatred boils at me and I can't look at him for too long without wanting to shove my spoon in his eye. There are a couple more tables filled with my fellow Woodbury survivors, and the rest of the seats are only filled with spirits.

After a while, the present Council members and Rick stand.

Hershel speaks first, he was always the most patient, "As you all know too well, there was a break out earlier today. We lost 12, but they were not the only ones. There were two more murdered in cold blood. Karen and David." Tyreese's eyes are cold and dark as they analyze each of us. A wave of shock hits me, though I know it shouldn't, the signs were all there, I was just blind. I clasp a hand over my mouth so that I don't gasp out loud. I wonder for a moment if they'll ask if someone will come forward and admit to it. That's what they'd do in Woodbury, the Governor'd use his nice voice and say _'ain't nobody gonna be in trouble. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding.'_ But that's bullshit, and I'm relieved when they don't try that here.

"These two showed the same signs of the illness that took Patrick. And we've all decided that we can't risk losing anymore." Hershel finishes, and Glenn picks up where he left off.

Glenn shifts back and forth uncomfortably, and casts his wife, Maggie, an apologetic glance, "To try and prevent any further spreading. We're going to try and contain the illness, and quarantine the ones who are most at risk, the children and elderly to the admin building. Any ill, or show signs of ill need to report to A Block immediately." Death row, God, isn't that fitting. Way to boost morale guys.

"The rest of us, just carry on. Work shifts will probably be stepped up to compensate for the lost, but other than that, try and go about your business as normal," Rick finishes, I think the last time I heard Rick give any kind of leader-like speech was when I first arrived on that bus from Woodbury, grieving and afraid. It was good to hear again, almost calming.

They take their seats after that, and dinner goes back to quiet. I know that separating isn't good, but it has to be done. We can't afford to lose anyone else. We all still know the Governor is around.

Once everyone is done, I help Carol with the dishes. And once those are complete, I decide to take a walk. I just need some fresh air before they put me away for who knows how long.

The trees past the prison walls are silhouetted by the late orange light. Above that, the sky glows red and purple, melting into the vast blue which fades darker the farther you look. Thank God this day is finally ending, it's gone on far too long. It feels like eternity since I last watched Carl and Patrick laugh at some stupid joke. Tomorrow's another day, with its own complications and achievements, I sincerely hope the latter will outweigh the former, unlike today.

So as my feet carry me down the gravel driveway toward the fences, I kick up the small pebbles and study the world and all its beauty. But I have to look upward, for if I look down, or even listen to the world, the beauty shall fade. And the ugliness and evil in the world is exposed, revealing its true colors.

It will release its monsters.


	9. Truth and Lies

Sometimes the truth hurts. And maybe, you haven't been telling a lie in place of the truth, but it's still not the truth until you tell it. There are some things that can never become truths because that pain is too much to bear. But there are other times when the pain will be over soon enough that telling would be worth it. Otherwise, you just live a lie.

Before herding us into the admin building, they make the quarantined take showers, as to cleanse us of what can be cleansed. They do try to separate us some, the boys and Hershel on one side of the showers and us girls on the other. I'm easily the second oldest, but Beth has to bathe Judith so that puts me in charge. Most of them, save Lizzie and Mika, don't really understand why we separate in the first place and don't want to stand in what little cubicles are given. They scamper around naked and I'm scared one will slip on the tile floor and bust open their head. Finally, I manage to get them clean and redressed. Beth takes them back to the admin building, telling me she'll be back once she puts down Judith and I'm finally alone.

I have to borrow clothes until the exposed can collect the belongings from my cell and wash them. I'm stuck with one of Beth's shirts and a loose pair of cut offs. They sit neatly stacked on one side of the shower area, atop an old bench and I quickly strip, leaving my dirty clothes in a small pile. I want to rush this shower because I'm deathly afraid of someone walking in on me. What would I do? Curl up in a ball and try to hide myself? But I can't rush, because it's been so long since the warm pulse of water pattered against my soiled skin. It's soothing to my filthy body. I scrub the oil and dirt from my hair and let the grime roll off my body with a newly applied layer of soap. I clean out the dirt beneath my nails and then I stand with my back facing the shower head, content with its constant rhythm.

But then I think about Patrick again and how he died in these showers, my throat begins to close up, and I have to turn off the shower and sit down, so I don't do anything stupid like collapse. I bite down so hard on my tongue I taste the bitter blood.

Once I've calmed down enough, I towel off and run my fingers through my hair. The shirt is soft to the touch and worn from time. It's a faded yellow polo and I can still see faint blood stains. I gulp and slip on the dark jean cut offs, which graze the tops of my knees and are a little loose in the thighs. I put on high socks that wouldn't normally show, but I don't normally wear shorts. I lace up my Docs and let my hair soak my shirt. I don't put my beanie, gloves, or jacket.

I start to think about the others collecting my belongings and my gut drops at what I know they'll find. I push past the showering curtains and I listen to the words that echo throughout the room.

"I'm gonna get these kids back to the cell. Now Carl, just come on when you're ready, son," Hershel says with his patient, even tone. I hear the younger boys squeal and run ahead and then slight gait of Hershel. After a few moments, I determine the shape of Carl on the other side of the curtain. I reach through and snatch his shoulder pulling him over to me. I clasp my hand over his mouth, in case he freaks out.

His eyes are wide and scared like a deer, and then once they meet mine, they relax and he pulls away from my hand, "What the hell?" his eyes narrow slightly and he cocks his head at me.

"I need your help," I tell him.

"Can't it wait?" his eyes nod downward at his body and I realize his shirt is balled in his hands and his chest is bare, glistening with shower water. In my small moment of studying his chest, I see a scar on the upper right side of his chest, a pink ring with a long slash, not matching the shade of the rest of his pale torso. There it is, the mythical scar, another commonly told story around here, though I've never heard Carl's version.

My eyes go wide and my head bobs back up to meet his eyes, "Yeah, I mean, shirts are optional," internally my jaw drops and I'm flipping out. _Who said I was allowed to say that? That did not pass the board! _"I mean, uh, get your shirt on Grimes, we got shit to do." my cheeks flush and Carl laughs. It fills my ears and I turn even more red. I give him a shy smile and turn on my heels. "Just tell me when you're ready."

I go and sit back down on the bench, kicking up my feet idly and letting my heel bounce when it hits the tile floor. After a few moments I hear his footsteps, then the shower curtain shifting, then I see him in my peripherals. I stand and try and look at him, "Ready?"

"Nah, I'm just gonna back over there, I was just kidding," he extends his thumb over his shoulder, and turns around. I let out a sigh and pull his arm along and he lets out a chuckle.

"So what exactly are you pulling me into?" Carl asks, quite literally I might add.

"We're gonna pay old cell block a visit," I look around vaguely, I hold him back as I stick my head out into the hallway and make sure no one is coming.

"What?" he pulls me back abruptly, his voice dropping to a whisper, "That's in D. That's where the flu is."

I cut him an annoyed glance, "Come on, rebel, you know you want to." I nudge him with my shoulder. He nudges me back, and rolls his eyes.

"Can you at least tell me what we're getting?" He gives me an exasperated look.

Now here comes the hard part. The one I've been dreading. The part I was hoping I'd get to skip. But Carl isn't stupid, he wouldn't go into something blind.

"Well you see," I bit on my lips, searching for the right words, "I sort of have this collection. And I... I don't really want the others to find it when they clean out my cell."

"What, are you like a food hoarder?" Carl chuckles and the corners of his eyes start to crinkle.

"More like a book hoarder." Carl cocks his head, "I don't just think up all these deep, philosophical things on my own you know. I have help."

"Like how much help?" He leans forward.

"40-45." I shrug after a moment of thought. My collection has steadily grown

His eyes go huge, "You're joking,"

My lower jaw sticks out with considering, frown-like thing, "Nope."

"Well I guess you do need me," Carl nods decidedly.

"That's one way to put it," I shrug meekly. We're running out of time. Beth will back soon, Judith doesn't take too long to put down.

"Come on, you, I don't have time for your sass." I grab his hand, I do a quick check of the hallway, "Better hold onto your hat." I push the felt hat down further on his damp locks. Then I take off running, pulling Carl behind me. He catches on and I'm not pulling him for long. We're running down the hallway and the cold, stale air hits the back of my throat and I have to stop once we reach an intersection, Carl slams into me and I cut him a displeased look. I peek around the corner, and his rapid breathing is loud in my ear.

Once I'm sure the coast is clear, we head left and it's a short jog with quick feet to reach D Block. It's abandoned of course, but I can still smell decaying corpse and death. I bite hard on my tongue, there's the blood again. But it's also over there, by that cell, and there, drying on the staircase. I squeeze Carl's hand so hard I'm afraid he'll lose circulation. But I don't care. I need to know there's someone alive here with me. He squeezes back, I think he's thinking the same thing. His hand is warm, intertwined with mine. I can feel the slight roughness of forming calluses, but also some smooth places. I think about how my own hand must feel, I hope I'm not sweating or anything gross like that.

We walk into the block and then ascend the stairs, the second one on the right. Like always. The door is still mostly closed and appears to be the least disturbed. The door creaks open and I let go of Carl's hand. He stays outside and I go in. My sleeping bag still a messy blob on the floor. There's my knife, on the bottom bunk. I quickly snap the hostler around my waist. Not leaving that ever again. Then I get on my knees, and grab my backpack from underneath the bottom bunk and begin filling it with books. When I can fit no more, I start piling them up in my arms and carry them over to Carl and he extends his arms out and I drop them. He jolts a little from the unexpected weight.

"Ever heard of _light_ reading?" He groans

"Ah, but that's no fun," I smirk and I turn around, back into the cell. I grab the remaining books, throwing the full backpack over my shoulder. Christ, that's heavy. I make sure everything looks the same as it when we arrived, down to the amount the cell door was cracked.

"Where did you get all these books?" He asks as we reach the D Block door.

Yup. Here it comes. I can't live this lie anymore, "I procure them... From various... Sources..."

It's not much of a lie to live, but when you live in a place where everything is donated for the better of the group, it's not good.

"Such as?" Carl shifts the weight of the books around.

"Well some are from Woodbury, and a few are even mine from before the world fell apart. But the most recent ones, I've found on the runs I used to do. And I've burrowed some of my favorite books from the library."

"You mean stole?" Carl pops a playful eyebrow.

"_Borrow_." I tell him, which is mostly the truth.

"Jesus Sam, don't you think you could return some of these?" We're in the long hallway where we ran.

"But I like them. And it's not like anyone'll miss 'em." my cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. Carl lets out a sigh and shakes his head at me with a smirk.

"You won't tell? I trust you ya know." my worried eyebrows raise at him.

"Your secret's safe with me," his brilliant blue eyes are soft and almost lazy as they gaze into mine, and the smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, "but where are we gonna put all these." He shifts the weight of the books again and we pass the showers, I can hear the echo of Beth singing softly to herself, I catch the tune, The Parting Glass, it's pretty and sweet. Carl's eyes start to glaze over with memories and I look over at him with concern. It passes quickly and we're at the end of the hallway. We make a right and then a left before Carl speaks again.

"So, got anymore secrets you wanna tell me?" He's looking at me again and my knees feel like jelly.

"No." Truth.

But he can see through me, "Got anymore secrets I need to know?"

"No." Lie.


	10. Names

Names have been identifiers from the start. We call things names so we know what they are. I'm Sam, 15 year old, walker killing, book enthusiast. That's how people know me. When they think Sam they think of me. Or, people who know me at least. And then there's Walkers, named not by individual, but as a group, a flesh eating, monstrous, group. When you say walker, people know EXACTLY what you're talking about. And that's the nice thing about names, they don't change. You can have multiple names, or you can have just one. But they're names just the same.

We manage to make it into the admin building without getting caught. We find a small, abandoned office and store the books in the desk. Carl sits down on the worn, brown carpet and sets his stack of books on the ground. I'm organizing the books so that I'll know where they'll be. My Harry Potter collection is in the bottom right drawer, along with The Hobbit and Catch 22. Then I have all my biographies in the upper left drawer. I crouch down as I put my young adult novels in the bottom left. I lose my balance for a moment and Carl catches me, his hand stretching out, palm flat against the small of my back. I straighten back out, and I shift positions, so a silly mistake doesn't happen like that again. His hand is gone now, but the spot still tingles from where his hand was. My butt rests against my calves and my toes push onto the ground.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carl looking at one of my old books. Little House on the Prairie, my heart aches. Mom gave me that from when she was a kid. The cover is yellowed and in tatters, but still good. Carl uses two fingers to delicately open the book. His eyes narrow as he reads the words inside. But he's not reading the book. It's the inscription, I know it.

"Property of Samantha Wilkins. No boys can read!" Carl laughs at the last part, "Guess this makes me a rule breaker, _Samantha_." I've never really cared for my real name, but the way it rolls off Carl's tongue, a girl could get used to that.

I let out a slightly forced laugh, "I was pretty young when I wrote that," I steal the copy from his hands.

"Hey, I was going to read that!" He protests playfully, even with only a sliver of moonlight illuminating the room, I can see his bright blue eyes gleaming.

"Rules are rules," I shake a scolding finger at him.

"But I'm a rebel," his daring eyebrows pop up at the challenge. Only quoting my own words.

"Too bad." I turn my head away from him quickly, my damp hair flipping slightly in the process. I put the Laura Ingalls collection in the top left drawer with a few other classics.

Soon all my books are in order, and it's late. My eyes are sagging, but if I stay here, it'll be easier to find my books. So I push myself to my feet, and extend a hand to Carl, who tipped his hat over his eyes a long time ago. I nudge him softly with my foot. His head jerks up and it takes him a second to put two and two together.

He takes my hand and I pull him up. I wonder if they went looking for us, I wonder if they're still up, I wonder if they even care. I shake my head slightly, it doesn't matter. We exit the office and head down the hall, a couple rooms down on the right. I hear where the younger kids are sleeping, by their soft, even breathing, not in sync with any other. A few rooms further to the left, there's Judith's crib, and Beth, who's now asleep in the corner on a pallet. The room next door has Hershel, but he's not asleep.

_Shit._

We step back and Carl squeezes my hand, then releases it and goes alone into the room, they exchange unintelligible words. Carl reappears a few moments later with 2 blankets and 2 pillows, he nods to the room across the hall. We go in and Carl tosses me a pillow and blanket. I instantly go to the corner and curl up into the blue blanket, which is warm and thick. I face out from the wall and study Carl, who sets up a few feet away. My eyelids start to droop, and soon it's just black.

That night I have a nightmare about my dad dying. Only this time I'm there. He and the crew he went with are running, running from walkers and it's like I'm watching the film of my dad's death. I'm there and I can see it, but I'm also not running and I can't do anything but watch. They keep running and then Bob trips. He yells and the others turn around, but only my dad goes to him. He pulls him up and Bob shoots him in the calf. My dad screams and I feel the pain in my own leg. My dad goes to the ground and Bob yells, "Someone has to be walker bait!" As he and the others run off, and then I'm screaming at them to come back and help them. But they can't hear me and it's too late anyway. A walker sinks his teeth into my dad's torso and pulls out red flesh. I scream again and tears are streaming down my face. I can't watch anymore, I shut my eyes. And when they open again, I'm in the admin building with my blanket tangled in my legs and a cold sweat pouring down my back.

I realize that I was shaken awake and I see Carl at last. His eyes are wide and scared, "Are you ok? You were mumbling and crying in your sleep."

I nearly tackle that boy in a hug, my arms wrap greedily around him and I have two fistfuls of his t-shirt in my hands. His arms wrap tightly around me, but his aren't trembling like mine are. They're strong and safe and my heart rate is nearly back to normal after a few moments. I realize there are still tears on my cheeks and I let go of Carl and wipe them away with the heel of my hand. I sit back on my knees. And my chest is still heaving and I take in shaky, uneven breaths.

One of his hands stretch out and tuck a loose strand of my dull honey hair behind my ear, "Are you gonna be okay?" I sniffle a little and nod.

"It's ok, I have them too," his voice is soft and reassuring.

I know it's stupid, but I don't care, "Can you just... stay?" My voice is uneven, but Carl gets the message. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," is all he says, but that's ok. He doesn't go back to a few feet away, he just sits with his back against the wall and I lean against him. For such a lanky kid, he makes a good pillow. His left arm is hesitant, but it makes its way to my left shoulder and it holds me close.

"So can I call you Samantha?" I'm already half asleep, so his voice is more like an echo. But I think I nod.

"Absolutely not," my voice disagrees with my head.

"Why not?" He's sleepy too, the

But I don't answer, because I'm asleep again. It's a nice sleep this time. I awake with Carl shifting. I turn to him and his eyes are still foggy with sleep. It takes me a second to realize that I slept this close to a boy. Carl for God's sake, and immediately move away, and my cheeks are red. His are too, and his brow knits together slightly, the corner of his mouth tipping up a little, and his head is tilted at an angle.

"I, uh," my face twitches awkwardly trying to think of a decent excuse, "gotta go help with...breakfast." The room is more lit now, so my natural reflex is to believe its morning.

"We're quarantined," Carl reminds me, his tone is heavy, I can tell he hates this too.

"So does that mean we have to starve? No." I shake my head. I stand up and straighten the rumpled polo, I brush off my cut offs and my hair is pointless.

"I'm gonna go see what I can do." I inform and exit the room.

I pop my head into the room where Hershel is staying, he's gone. Hm. I peek into the office where Beth and Judith are staying. Still nothing.

I hear voices in the room where the other kids stayed. Finally, there they are. I walk in causally and hope Carl stayed put.

"Hey y'all," I give a friendly wave; Beth looks up from feeding Judith and smiles. I've always kind of admired Beth, it takes a certain strength to be good and still live in this world. Hershel looks up too. He's been thinking, I recognize that crease in his brow.

"How are you and that boy doing this morning?" Hershel chuckles and raises one bushy white eyebrow, "Don't think I don't know what's going on, you know. I'm old, not blind." There's still a crack of a smile on his face. My cheeks go red and I duck my head.

"I just wanted to see if I could help with anything?" The words come out mumbled and zip out quickly.

"Well, Carol should be coming around with our share of breakfast any time now, I suppose you could go wait for her," Hershel nods to the door. I nod and scurry out the door, my skin still warm from the blush.

I walk down the hallway and then I hear one voice, calling my name.


	11. Waiting

There are a lot of painful things in this world. But sometimes one of the most painful can be waiting. Before flesh eating beasts were a commonality, there was your standard waiting. For a new book to come out, or for 7 months when your favorite TV show would return. But waiting is different now. And I think it's worse. You wait and wait for someone to return, but you never know when something has just snuck up. And your left waiting, for the thing that will never come.

I see Mika at the end of the hall; her eyes are wide and scared. She's waving at me, indicating for me to come quick. I pick up my pace, especially when I realize the room Mika is moving towards is the office with my books. _Shit. Just play dumb, Sam, just play dumb._

"What Mika? What is it?" I don't ask what she's seen, or what she's found. Gotta play it up for the kids.

"It's Lizzie, I think she's sick." Little Mika's voice is shaking, when I'm close enough, she takes my hand, her little fingers grabbing mine. I force myself not to pull away, I'm not that good with kids, but I do what I have to, "I'm scared." She whispers, and then looks into the office. I hear coughing and my heart drops. I push into the room, opening up the partially open door all the way.

Against the desk, there's a girl, drenched and coughing wildly, "Lizzie?" I look at her, she's sweating, just like Patrick. My body wants to shut down. Not today. Not right now. People need me, and I have to do what I can.

"I," her shoulders shake to a coughing rhythm, "I'm fine."

My lips tighten, I've never liked Lizzie, and frankly I think she's a nut case, but no one else deserves to die like Patrick did. I swallow my pride and how I feel about her, "You are definitely not. You have to go to A Block. You heard the orders. Dr. S can make you better. Come on now," I gesture for Lizzie to get up. I can't get too close; I don't wanna get sick too. But she can't get up on her own, not without falling into a coughing fit. So I let go of Mika's hand and tell her to go back to the others, she looks at Lizzie for a moment, eyes sad, but also thoughtful. Then she runs off, poor kid is just scared. I would run too. But I'm 'mature'. I'm older. All lies, but I live them because I'm too weak for the truth.

I help Lizzie to her feet, and I get her to the entrance. Carol has just walked up, I can tell she wants to rush over by the way she pulls forward and then slams herself back.

"Are you both sick?" Carol's lips are tightly drawn. She has indeed brought breakfast, and my stomach rumbles when the scent of food hits my nose.

"No, just her." I shake my head.

"Well then get away from her!" Carol demands, perhaps a bit too harshly, "We don't need you sick too you know." She tries to justify her bluntness, I get it, but Lizzie looks at a tad hurt. I step away and Carol gives me the food. She ushers Lizzie away and tells me to be careful. I push the cart that has the pot of leftover beans with the bowls and the spoons and the water. When I get to the room that everyone was not so long ago I notice some things.

I find two things that are strange. One, Carl hasn't shown up yet. This is justifiable though, frankly because he's Carl Grimes and he does whatever the hell he damn well pleases. And two, Hershel is missing. I mean the man has a prosthetic limb for God's sake, moving around isn't really his strong suit.

Beth is still here though, and the other kids are playing on the old, rugged carpet. They all turn towards me. The smell of food draws them like moths to light.

"Where did your dad go?" My eyes are on Beth. She's standing Judith up on her narrow thighs. Judith's small hands wrapped around one finger on either of Beth's hands. Judith giggles as Beth still bounces her up and down. I crack a smile at Judith's laugh, because it's impossible not to.

"He just left," Beth shrugs, "Said he had stuff to do." Her kind tone is patient like her fathers, "I'm sure everything's fine."

I'm hesitant about the next part, "And Carl?"

Beth cracks a knowing smile for a moment, but then shakes her head, "No, I don't think I've seen him at all this morning."

I grit my teeth, "Ok. Well, do you want me to serve?"

Beth looks at Judith, "If you could. At least start it. I think she's about ready for a nap anyway." She sets Judith down, so now her chubby, baby legs sit straight out in front of her. One hand is still wrapped around Beth's finger, but the other pulls the left finger towards Judith's mouth.

Beth pulls her finger away and shakes her head at Judith ,"Ah, ah, ah. Come on cutie, let's let the big kids eat, ok?" Beth uses an even gentler voice than normal on Judith. The now empty finger tickles Judith's belly as she stands and walks from the room. Beth really is excellent with kids. A skill I'm jealous of.

I start to ration the beans into each bowl, and hand each kid a bowl and a spoon. They scamper back to the rug and greedily spoon the beans into their mouths. Too soon, the food is gone, and they are handing me back the empty bowls and silverware. I eat my own bowl slowly; enjoying the food I am given. Because too often in this world, people go without it. I sit at a table with two or three chairs besides the one I take up. Across from me sits the bowl for Beth, and she still hasn't returned. Maybe Judith wasn't as tired as usual. At the hour we're eating, it might've been considered brunch if the world wasn't a giant pit of suck and walkers. This is the latest I've eaten breakfast in a long time, I must've slept later than I thought I did.

Beth returns just as I'm finishing up and she slides into the chair across from me, "Sorry that took so long, Judith was just not having it this morning," she gives a friendly smile and shakes her head. I nod in understanding. I set down my spoon, and I look around awkwardly for a moment, _do I stay? Do I leave?_

I clear my throat, "So, did I miss anything earlier?"

Beth swallows her spoonful, "Yeah, there was another Council meeting early this morning. My dad went,"

My eyes widen with interest, "What was the outcome of that?"

"Daryl and a few others are going out on a run. A big one. Dad said we needed antibiotics. It's getting worse by the minute," Beth's voice goes quiet and she stirs her bowlful to fill the silence some.

"Lizzie's gone now, she's got it." I tell Beth. She looks up at me and nods, "Do you think we're gonna die like this? All just get sick with some stupid flu and go out the dumbest way?" The words have been fighting to emerge from my subconscious for some time, but until I'd spoke them, I hadn't really thought about deeply. Now I was scared.

"We're strong. We'll make it past this. We always do," Beth reassures me, one arm stretches across the table to pat my forearm. "My dad told me something once, and I think he's right. If we don't have hope, what's the point of living? Ya know?"

I consider this for a moment, I like that. I like that a lot. "Yeah, I get it. So if we have hope, then we can make it."

She grits her teeth, just barely though, "Yeah," the word comes out quick and inconsequential. She's lying through her teeth, but it's nice for her to try.

_Good talk, Beth,_ "I'm gonna get these bowls back to the entrance now." I say, I grab my own, and then Beth finishes off her bowl quickly and hands me it. I push the cart back to the entrance, and my gut pulls when I make it to the office with my books. The door is closed now, I did that while getting Lizzie out, maybe no one will pay it any mind, won't explore it for its riches. Or, they're riches to me. I push the cart just outside of the admin building and leave it.

I walk around the admin building for a while, but Carl isn't anywhere to be found. He either snuck out to the prison, or he's the world's greatest hide and seek player. Either way, I'm stuck waiting. The realization sends chills through me, the last person I waited on was my dad._ Stop. Don't do this. He's fine. Don't be so clingy. He probably just wants some space_.

I force the thought of him away, but the chill stays and I decide sneak out of the admin building, just to the showers where I left my jacket. It's quick and painless, I'm relieved to not only find my jacket, but that no one is there. I run back to the admin building, and breathe a sigh of relief when the door shuts behind me and I go unseen. I slip the jacket over my shoulders, cinching the tie at the waist. The chills are still claiming my body.

I decide wandering more won't do me any good, so instead I do a quick check to make sure no one else is around and then I dart into my office. Or really Carl's and mine, because he was there too. This place _is_ ours. I quietly shut the door behind me and I go to the desk. My hands find the top left drawer and without any thought, my hands find Little House on the Prairie. The compulsion to read it overwhelms me and my fingers slip over the inscription. I laugh at yesterday's memories, and I start to worry again. But that's what waiting does, make you worry. Until all of your body composition becomes 10% water and 90% dread. And that right there is a lethal dosage. I'd estimate I'm only at 10% dread.

But then I really start to stop and think, what am I so worried about? This is a boy that I've only really begun to interact with for what, two days? _Two._ I can count the days on one hand. And the fact is, he's probably just off being defiant, and that I'm stressing over nothing. At the same time there's a part of me that imagines him not even in the prison, surrounded by walkers. And then...

A lump forms in my throat so hard I can't breathe. And I'm thinking about my dad again._ Read Sam, just read_. But disease has struck Laura's family too, "fever 'n' ague" she called it. They have the chills too. Just like me. I have to slam the book down. I can't read anymore. I cannot stand this waiting.


	12. Bruises

You have your physical bruises and you have your metaphysical bruises, the kind that hurt you on the inside. But the same concept applies for both. You don't really notice it until you push on it, or you hit against something and then pain hits you hard, so hard you stop breathing for a moment and you blink hard to clear your mind. You wince and it's altogether an unpleasant experience. I think my heart might be bruised, from the losses that plague me more often than not. But bruises heal, just slowly, and you're never quite the same afterward.

My misery drives me to sleep. Because time passes that way. I just want the time to pass. When I wake up, enough time has passed for the sun to have moved across the sky to shine on my face through the window. I swallow, moistening my dry throat. My tailbone aches from sleeping in the sitting up position. _Little House on the Prairie_ sits closed a few feet away, from where I threw it down earlier. My knees are nearly pulled up to my chest and everything below my knees has fallen asleep. I stretch my arms and I get to my feet. Yes, I was asleep for a good while.

After a quick examination through the peephole on the office door, which was admittedly helpful, but strange for a prison admin building, I determine the coast is clear. _Little House on the Prairie_ has been stored where it belongs, and I dash out of the office, making sure the door is properly closed. I stroll causally down the hallway for a while. I stop dead when I see a figure. A mixture of emotions hit me and my body wants to do a thousand things at once.

_Carl._ The unmistakable lanky figure and sheriff hat is a dead giveaway. I want to scream and lecture him about how he shouldn't run off and scare me half to death. But then I remember he's not my property, and I'm not his mother. I also want to give him a hug because I'm thrilled he's alive and at least appears safe. I grit my teeth and tell myself to be a good girl.

"Hey, Grimes," I call his way.

He turns around and nods at me, her starts walking in my direction. _Control, Sam. Control._

"Hey, I've been looking for you." His expression doesn't give much away. He's pretty guarded at the moment, and even the brilliant blue of his eyes gives nothing away.

"That's a lie," I scoff, "You hadn't checked the office." I don't even have to identify which office, he knows.

"Ok, you caught me," he rolls his eyes, a slight smirk at just the corners of his mouth, putting his hands in the surrendering position. Then I realize he's holding his gun.

"When did you get your gun back?" I haven't been entrusted with something as significant as a gun for a long while.

Carl lowers his hand, his head ducks with it, his hand starts to fiddle with the safety, "Yesterday. I think my dad decided that since the outbreak it's not safe anymore. I'm only supposed to use it for emergencies though. He still doesn't trust me." His tone is serious and upset. Then he clears his throat with a little cough.

I have to change the subject, "So what are you really doing?"

He lifts his head again, and he slides the gun back into its holster, "Doing what my dad told me to. Watchin' over everyone." His Georgia accent doesn't slip out often. But when it does... _Stop it, Sam, don't get sidetracked._

"Then where were you earlier? You missed breakfast ya know." There we go, it came out. What I've really been dying to know. I just hope I don't sound too desperate and clingy.

Carl shrugs, "Those kids need it more than I do." That's a lie.

"But you," I urge, my voice drops out, and I swear I sound no older than Mika, "where were you."

He can't meet my gaze again, and I know that he's snuck out, "I was doing my job. Hershel wanted to go out, I wasn't gonna let him go alone," he shakes his head. It lifts and I can see each bead of sweat on his forehead. Like a nervous tick, he wipes them away.

"Where's he now?" I cock my head curiously at Carl

Carl bites his lip, "I think he went to A Block."

My eyes stretch wide, "Why?" _Please don't let Hershel be sick. _We need him. He's helped Rick, he's helped me, he's helped all of us. Losing Hershel would be like losing your head.

"He had some herb remedy to help keep the sick around until we got real antibiotics. That's the whole reason he went out in the first place." Carl explains. His expression is tight and worried.

"Lizzie has it," the words spill out of my mouth like a waterfall before I can control them.

Carl swallows hard, his face looks worn and exhausted, he does not look like a fourteen year old boy. But an aged veteran who's seen so much death and suffering, "Glenn too. Half of the prison is in that cell block now."

I bite my lip, thinking about my words to Beth. How long I wonder, how long until I get it, until Beth gets it, until Judith gets it, until Carl gets it. There goes that bruise again, and I physically wince. He steps forward and his hand is burning warm against my forearm, though his touch is gentle.

"I'm fine," I shake my head. I pull away, "Isn't it nearly time to eat again?" the subject change feels forced, but I don't want to think about this anymore.

"Yeah," Carl nods and he walks ahead of me. He does the cough-like thing to clear his throat again and he heads to the room where everyone tends to congregate.

Tonight, dinner isn't much. Then again, that's to be expected, there are many to feed and the ill need as much sustenance as their bodies will let them take on. It's funny how when you most need nourishment, your body rejects it, like a rebellious teenager who wants to prove they don't need help to fight whatever battle they take on. We eat a mix of canned corn, green beans, and fresh peas. The peas taste the best, they aren't tainted with the preservatives that have helped us carry on for so long.

If I could, I'd like to thank the guy that invented preservatives, I'm sure he didn't know that their best use would be the zombie apocalypse, a future I'm positive he couldn't even fathom. But truthfully, he's a life saver. For when you run from monsters there's no time to grow crops and harvest them. The fact that we lay claim to that blessing now is a miracle. I eat slowly like I always do. It's easiest to enjoy and observe that way.

There's Beth, who shares her food with Judith. Judith's head shakes as she refuses to eat _another_ spoonful. But Beth is more determined than that. Eventually, she coaxes enough into Judith that Beth is satisfied and eats the rest for herself. Beth eats carefully and slowly, she clearly grew up being self-conscious about how people saw her when she ate, tiny spoonful's and slow chewing, and never speaking while she eats.

Then there's Carl, who eats with relative speed, probably because he hasn't eaten today and he's a growing boy. There's a certain something to the way he eats though, almost a desperation, like this could be anything, just to keep going. When he finishes, he takes Judith from Beth and he stops being the agile, defiant survivor and his eyes are soft and every action is delicate and caring to his baby sister. He cradles her in his arms and she plays with one of his fingers because that's as much as she can grab. Judith always smiles at Carl, and he always smiles back. My throat catches at the warmth that glows between the two of them. It's just so cute.

There are the children, they sit on the ground. Not enough room for all of us to use the table. They are shoveling mouthfuls in as fast as they can. They can't get enough, and their unnaturally lean bodies show it. There are some as young as five or six and barely have a speck of baby fat on them. Whereas Carl and I are just past losing ours, the way it's supposed to be. It hurts me to think these kids will never grow up and have school to go to and learn and they'll never understand what little things like recess were. Or how life before wasn't just surviving until the next day. But that's reality now. And it hurts. Another bruise that lays claim to my soul.


	13. Maybe

Maybe is such an inconsequential word. It can turn any otherwise serious phrase into something without meaning._ Maybe I'm going to eat today. Maybe we'll live to see sunrise tomorrow. Maybe I love you. Maybe I will kill you._ See how that works? This world is full of maybes and you never know when a maybe will come true.

After dinner, I leave Carl with Judith and take the cart with the dirty dishes to the front. It's a nice, quiet walk on my own. The sun glows warm, orange through what few windows we have. The cart creaks slightly with age and my shoes are nearly silent against the tile floors. When I reach the entrance, I push the door open and I set the cart just outside. I hear steps to my left and I see Rick come into my peripheral vision.

"Where's Carl?" Rick says as soon as he realizes it's me.

I look over at him and let go of the cart, "Inside, with Judith." I nod my head backward toward the admin building.

"Did he leave earlier?" Rick's brow furrows like Carl's does sometimes.

I bite my tongue, _what would Carl want me to say? Your secret is safe with me,_ I silently tell Carl.

I shrug, "I slept most of the day, so maybe?" Not a lie, but not the truth at the same time.

Rick sighs and purses his lips, cracking his head to the side. "Can I go in?"

I look awkwardly from side to side, _do I really have the authority to stop Rick?_ "I... I.. I guess. I don't see why not," I shrug, I step aside and Rick walks past me. _Has he talked to Hershel? Did something happen out there that Carl didn't tell me about?_

I blink that thought away, it's probably nothing. I decide to head to the office with my books. I need something different to read.

I flip through my biographies. Joan of Arc, there's something I haven't read in a while. I stuff it into my waistband and zip up my jacket to cover it. I slip quietly out of the room and hear voices.

"-with Hershel?"

"I was doing my job." There's a defensive tone the voice uses that I immediately recognize as Carl's. The other voice was deep with a thick southern accent. Rick.

"You need to stay here. Do as you're told." Rick sounds strained and distracted. _What is it? What could be distracting him?_

"I am. You said to protect them here. That's what I'm doing. What if Hershel had been attacked, huh?" Carl's tone rises.

Rick counters with a lower volume, "Did you shoot?"

"No,"

"Did you want to?"

"Maybe." regret, shame, and pain dowse Carl's voice and he does the cough thing to clear his throat again.

I hear footsteps behind me and I pretend to act surprised when I hear, "Sam?"

"How long have you been here?" I swallow, looking over Carol. She looks distracted too, her jaw is tight and she has a pile of clothes in her arms.

"Long enough," she hands me my clothes, I notice my beanie and gloves are folded on top, "You shouldn't eavesdrop you know." she points out with lifted eyebrows.

I bite my tongue because I almost tell her that it isn't polite to sneak up on people either. Instead I just duck my head and nod, I turn around and start to walk away.

"Rick and I are going on a run. With Hershel in A, that puts Beth in charge, but you at second. Be mindful now, but also take care of what needs to be done. She has Judith to look after." Carol tells me. I nod again, but not because I feel like. More nasty words that should never be spoken.

"Alright, be safe," I turn my head back to her for a moment. I grit my teeth, and keep on walking. As I head to the room Carl and I are staying in, Rick passes me and pats me on the shoulder. I nod again, it's not safe for so many of our defenders to be out. _What if the Governor comes?_ All that's left by the sound of it are the ill and us. Maybe Maggie, if she didn't take off with Daryl.

I get the room and the door is cracked, I bump it open with my foot and Carl is in the back corner of the room. He's wearing the hat, it's tipped over his eyes so I can't see his face. He's fiddling with his gun.

I clear my throat so he's more aware I'm here, "You ok?"

He nods and sniffs.

"What is it?" I push, I set my clothes down in my corner on the opposite side of the room. My blanket is still in a pile, I hadn't thought to fold it. I unzip my jacket and throw the book on the pile. I walk over and sit cross-legged a couple feet away.

"Nothing," he grumbles. It's almost like he's trying to hide something from me. My brow narrows and I bite my lip, maybe we weren't as close as I'd imagined us to be. My heart drops a little and my expression twists.

"Alright, be that way. Grumpy," I roll my eyes and try to play it off. I push myself to my feet and I curl into my own corner, the blanket on my legs. I begin to read my book. The light is fading though, and it doesn't take long before even squinting with my nose inches from the book is enough. I set it down, and slide into a lying down position. I curl up into the fetal position and pull the blanket over my shoulder. My head rests against the pillow and I'm turned away from Carl. _Maybe I'll find my own room tomorrow. Maybe_.

I sleep well enough that night, no nightmares, with my early to bed, I wake up before dawn. Carl's still asleep. He's facing towards me, the hat rests next to his chest and he's sprawled out, lying on his stomach, one arm twisted behind him with his unbuttoned flannel shirt nearly off, revealing his dirty gray t-shirt. His face is turned to the side towards me, his face is soft and younger in the near black lighting. He looks his proper age, and you can just see his top teeth through his thin, slightly parted lips.

A small smile starts to form on my face, but I push it away. I have work to do. Especially since Carol is gone now. I'm the only left to cook. I'm not too worried about Carl waking up, but even so I face the wall as I change. Today I put on dark blue skinny jeans that are ripped out at the knees and a soft, gray tank top that is loose against my slender body. There's sea foam green and black Aztec stitching down the center. Down the center of the back is held together by many black threads. I slip on my jacket and lace up my Docs. I run my fingers through my hair and slide the beanie on my head.

I hide my book beneath the other clothes and take the time to neatly fold my blanket and set it on top of my pillow. Now everything is neat. I slip out the door and leave it cracked behind me, with only Carl's even breathing to fill the silence. He lets out a cough and I almost go back inside to check on him. But he's fine. He has to be.

I go to where Beth is staying and she's still asleep too. Of course, we should all be asleep. But we've all got jobs to do, and mine includes rising before the rest.

I should tell her, I should. But she needs her rest. Judith's a handful. So I scavenge the desk in the room and find some paper and a pencil.

_Went to go make breakfast. Be back soon._

_Sam_

I set it where she'll see it and then I'm gone. I walk quickly down the hallway and before I know it, I'm back into the prison. One way, I hear the loud roar of coughing, the ill and dying._ How long can they hold on?_ Another way, the way to the outside, I can hear the walkers, there's so many. _Do we have enough on the fence?_ We have to. These fences cannot fall. We need them to survive. The last way is silent, that is the road I take. The road of silence, I find it best and in a strange way, the most comforting. I get to choose the way I fill it, not have it filled for me.

I follow the dark and dank pathways until I emerge in the mess hall. I push through the swinging doors and enter the kitchen. It's so empty. I hope Rick and Carol find some food while their gone. I search the storage area and find a bag of oats. Oatmeal it is.

I grab the bag of oats and I nearly drop it. I let out a groan. It's heavier than it looks. I resettle the bag in my arms and with uncertain steps make it back to the kitchen area. I drop the oats on the island and I search the cabinets for a large pot. I grab the biggest I can find and fill it with water. I turn on a gas burner and set the pot to boil. While I wait for the pot to boil I go into the storage area for anything to flavor the oatmeal. I find some preserved blueberries and decide it'll do.

I pour about a quarter of the bag of oats into the pot, that's how big it is. I stir the oats until they've softened. After that I drain the excess water and mix in the blueberries. It's not much, but it'll do. I find a smaller pot and I scoop half the oatmeal into it, and set the gas on low. That should keep the oatmeal warm. Carol and Rick should be back any time now. Maybe Carol will thank me for being so helpful. _No, Sam, you mustn't be so selfish. You're doing your job. It's what's expected._

I load up enough bowls and spoons to feed the admin building. I add the remaining oatmeal to the cart. By now dawn has come and passed. Everyone should be awake about now.

Maggie walks in just as I'm heading out, "You aren't supposed to be here you know."

I shrug, "Tell me something I don't know."

"Where'd you get that anyway," she nods at the food.

"Made it. Someone has to while Carol's gone." I shrug again innocently.

Maggie's jaw slacks and her face goes to an expressionless state, something is wrong, "Sam."

"Rick's back isn't he?" My lips draw a thin line.

"Yeah, and-" she doesn't have to finish. I know. Carol's dead. I push past Maggie. I roll the cart and my grip tightens, fury rolling through me. I just nod and can't say anything else, the pain is coming too quick.

I want to scream at God, if he's even still up there._ How many more people are you gonna steal from me? First Mom and Noah. Then you gave me time to heal. Then Dad. Then Patrick. Now Carol. No time to heal._ One bruise after another.

I'm in the admin building now, I swing the door open with more force than one normally applies to doors. I'm practically stomping down the hallway. I hang a left. Then a right. A few more doors. _Keep it together Sam_. The children are just waking up, Carl's there, hat and all. Beth and Judith too. I let out a sigh. Something makes me start to calm down.

"Carl!" Rick's voice echoes throughout the hallway.

"Carl!" He calls again. Carl gets to his feet and sprints out of the room.

"Carl!" one more time.

"You ok?" I can hear Carl from here still.

"I was gonna ask you that," Rick's tone is careful and worried.

"We're fine," Carl tells him, I can almost hear his nod. I hear footsteps walk away and the words become less clear, but I can still pick up what they say.

"No one's sick? You didn't have to do anything?" Carl was right, Rick is reluctant to trust him.

Carl's feet shuffle against the ground, "Haven't had to use my gun, Dad."

I think there's a bit of silent conversation that is exchanged because there aren't words for a moment.

Then Rick speaks up again, his tone concerned and worried, reluctant to speak the words in case he might regret them, "And Judith?" I cast a look at the baby. She's smiling and happy in Beth's arms. Beth is bouncing her on her skinny knee.

"She's with Beth," Carl tells Rick. Rick lets out a relieved sigh, his children are safe. Carl clears his throat and I hear more shuffling.

"I found some food on the run," Rick explains

Something slides across the tile floor, it mixes against the papers and I hear someone else pick up the object in question. "There's a buncha fruit leather in there. Let's have everybody brush their teeth after."

I hear steps begin to walk away, but more words stop them, "Can we come out soon?" That's Carl.

Rick releases another sigh, "Not just yet."

"Dad, I was around you when you were in the middle of all of it. And I was around Patrick." I understand how he feels, except Carl wasn't around Patrick in his last moments, drenched in sweat and coughing up blood.

"I can help you," he urges. I want him to bring up me. I'm no use use here. _Get me out of this hellhole!_

"Thanks, but I need you to stay here," Rick reminds him

"I will," Carl steps further away, and I have to step backwards into the hallway, "But Dad, you can't keep me from it."

I can picture the change on Rick's expression, the sudden interest on his son's next words, "From what?"

"From what always happens," Carl swallows, and I can imagine his expression now. Eyebrows knitted together, head low, eyes looking up in almost a challenge.

There's a moment of silence, "Yeah, maybe." more footsteps, and I just barely catch, "I think it's my job to try."

I hear the door shut and I don't hear footsteps for a minute or two, but eventually, Carl starts walking back towards us. I step into the room and begin serving the oatmeal. The kids reach upward towards me with empty bowls that they took among themselves to grab. I take each one from them and fill each up. Carl arrives a few moments later. I fill him a bowl, and we trade, the bag for his bowl. His fingers are warm against mine in that little trade. I look up at him, but he doesn't meet my eyes. I duck my head too. _I thought we were friends_. He's the only one I've got left. I give Beth her bowl, with extra to compensate for Judith. She nods thankfully and soon the only sounds that fill the room are the clanking of spoons against the bowls.

Carl doesn't sit at the table today, he sits off in the corner, hat drawn over his face again. Beth offers to take the cart back, once everyone is finished, since I 'kindly went ahead and made breakfast' which I translate to, 'Yeah, I'm gonna do this so you can't sneak out again.' Carl disappears shortly after Beth goes and I'm left with Judith and the children.

Judith look up at me, and gives a gurgly laugh. Then her face begins to twist up and she starts crying. I bite my tongue. Babies aren't exactly my thing. So I bounce her up and down a little, but the crying only gets louder. I grit my teeth, the kids all turn to me and my cheeks turn tomato red. Burp her! It hits me. Oh, right. So I grab the barf towel Beth left on the table, sling it onto my shoulder and pat Judith on the back while she rests against my shoulder. She burps successfully- to say I'm not given a nice coat of baby puke. And the crying stops, I sigh with relief. By that time Beth's back and she takes Judith from me.

"Did she give you any trouble?" Beth balances Judith against her hip.

I shake my head and stand. I leave the room without another word. What am I supposed to do now? I sigh and just head to the room with my stuff. Might as well read. I expect to find Carl in the hallway, patrolling, making sure everything is A-Okay. But instead I hear sniffling from the room we're sharing. The door is shut this time. I cock my head. _What is going on?_ I open the door.

"Carl?"

He clears his throat with the little coughing thing. Then I realize, he's doing that far too often. He is hiding something.

"You have it, don't you?" I look him dead on.

For once, he looks at me, those brilliant blue are dim, "Maybe."


	14. Never

I've never done a lot of things. I've never been to prison- for real. I've never drank alcohol or taken drugs. I've never worn make up. I've never stole anything. I've never kissed a boy. I've never killed an actual human being. And until now, I've never seen Carl Grimes with dim eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I step closer, he extends his hand outward, trying to keep me back.

"It means I'm not going to A. That place is a death trap. You go there to die." he swallows and sniffs again, "But it also means you have to stay away from me."

"Never." I shake my head, "I can't force you to go to A Block. I get that. But if you're not gonna go, then someone has to take care of you, Carl."

"I'm fine," he coughs, "I haven't even got it that bad."

I stare at him for a long time, he is not fine, I know it. How can he tell me this when he's curled into the corner, the sweat ring around his collar too pronounced, coughing and sniffling. He tries to obscure his face with that damn hat again.

I'm done, I'm done be careful and timid and tryin' to mind every damn person. I'm done trying not to come off as scary and bossy and demanding, because that's what I feel like, and Goddammit I have to be that way now.

I walk over to him, he turns away, and I kneel beside him, removing his hat, "Come on now, lie down."

"Don't do this to yourself," he coughs, "I can take care of myself. I'll be fine." His hair is damp with sweat and sticks to his neck. His breathing is shaky. No, he's not fine at all.

I shake my head, and push on his shoulder, indicating for him to lie down. He looks at me and I look back at him.

"How come you get to be the boss of me?" He chuckles

"Because I'm older," I lift my head, with slight arrogance.

"By two months," Carl defends himself. He's smiling, and it doesn't look painful, "To the day."

I smile back, "Well I have the advantage." Then I get serious again, "So lie down, Goddammit."

He rolls his eyes and I think I've finally beaten his stubbornness. That's when I know how sick he really is. Carl wouldn't normally follow orders so easily. He lies down, I find the blanket he threw to side a while ago. I ball it up and place it under his head, adding to his pillow. His eyes start to close, the poor kid is exhausted.

"Daryl and them will be back anytime now. I'll just steal some of the antibiotics when they get back. You'll be back on your feet in no time." I push the hair that's fallen over his eyes away.

"You're an idiot," he shakes his head, but his voice is mumbling, he's on his way out. I stroke his hair a little while longer. And then his breathing evens and I get to my feet. I have to keep his temperature down. I take one last glance at him, I won't be gone long. The people who worked here must've had something. Cough drops, ibuprofen, something. Anything.

I have luck, the room we're in has a half a bottle of aspirin and three honey lemon cough drops pushed at the very back of a paper crammed drawer. I set them on top of the desk.

The next three rooms only have a couple of tissues and napkins. But it's better than nothing. I stuff them in my pocket. The next room has a couple bottles of water and a small pack of saltine crackers. I find a nearly empty box of Benadryl. I begin to wonder why they didn't think to check the admin desks earlier. But I'm thankful they didn't. The last two rooms I try have more napkins, part of a bottle of Delsym, and 3 bottles of water.

It'll have to do, and whatever the case it's better than what I started with. No one notices me and I make it back to the room with Carl quite easily. I kick the door shut behind me, and Carl stirs. I set down the recovered supplies. He sits up and just watches me. He props himself up on his elbows and he looks a little better, somehow.

"Thought you said you weren't gonna leave me?" He lifts a tired, dark eyebrow.

"Not for long," I roll my eyes, I'm glad he can keep a light tone in times like this. I toss a water bottle to him, which was a poor decision upon retrospect. He fumbles with it and after a few moments his fingers grasp the bottle tightly. His fingertips turn white as he unscrews the bottle, like he's afraid he's going to drop it. I grab the aspirin bottle and walk over to him, he's already drank half the bottle.

"Whoa there, you might wanna slow down. Don't wanna choke yourself now." I regret the words the moment they pass my lips. Carl stops and swallows, looking at me. "I...I..."I trail off and look away. I unscrew the aspirin bottle and pour two out. I hand them to Carl.

"Two aspirin every eight hours," I tell him. He presses his palm to his mouth with the pills and takes another drink of water. I let out a small sigh once he's swallowed, yes, this should help. He coughs into his elbow, no point in trying to cover it up anymore.

I grit my teeth and walk back over to the table and grab the Delsym, which is cough syrup. Luckily the measuring cup is the lid. I pour the recommended two tablespoons, and bring it to Carl. I sit cross-legged beside him. My shoes just barely touching his side.

"Drink up." I hand it to him and he death grips it. He drinks and swallows it, wretching almost immediately.

"This is disgusting," his lips purse, and I laugh at his twisted expression.

"Do you enjoy this Sam?" He's running his teeth over his tongue, and drinking more water.

I laugh and shrug. He smirks slightly, but his eyelids are already drooping again. And my smile turns into the corners of my mouth being slightly upturned. I place the back of my hand against his forehead, he still burns. Any trace of a smile vanishes and I stand again. I get another water bottle and those tissues and napkins. I sit down again and hand him the tissues, he grasps them in his right hand. I unscrew the water bottle and dampen the napkin. I place the wet napkin against his forehead and blot. He settles back into a lying down position and his fever ridden left hand finds mine. It's burning and sweating, but I don't let go. He holds it tightly and gives it one squeeze.

In that squeeze I translate a silent thank you. He knows deep down that he needed help. I'm not doing this for any particular lust or romantic act of devotion. I'm doing it to keep him alive. Because everyone deserves a chance.

Soon his eyes are closed and the grip slackens. I continue to blot his forehead. A few hours pass and his body cools some. The fever reluctantly breaks and more sweat runs down his still face. I hate to leave him, but I need to know what's going on. As I'm contemplating getting up or not, the sound of gunshots settles it.

I'm up and out the door, sprinting, without a second thought. I slam into Beth who's just left her room from undoubtedly putting Judith down for her afternoon nap.

Beth grips my elbows, steadying and stopping me at the same time. "That came from A," she explains, "You can't go."

I give her a severe look, "Your dad."

"Don't remind me," her kind standard dissolves and she gives me an angered look.

"Please," I beg, "Someone has to go. And you have to stay here."

"But you're not exposed!" She protests.

"Yes I am," I'm so furious and desperate I don't control what I'm saying. _Great, now I have to find a way not to tell her about Carl._ "I saw Patrick. In his last moments? Yeah, he was hacking everywhere. Don't try and tell me I'm not exposed. Please Beth, just trust me."

She looks at me for a while, "Don't say I told you so," she sighs and releases me.

"Carl!" Rick calls. _**Shit.**__ Carl can't come right now, leave a message, beep._

"Carl!" Rick hisses. He calls one more time and I round the corner, sliding, Rick's flashlight shining on my face.

"I heard gunshots," I'm panting slightly

"Where's Carl?" Rick's voice tightens up.

"With Judith," I lie through my teeth, Rick can't know. He can't know, "he told me to come instead."

"I need his help," his eyes scan me, and I can tell they don't believe me for a second.

"I'll have to do," I shrug. He starts out the door and I follow. We're running and running, down the gravel driveway to the fences.

We make it to the fence and my eyes widen when I see the massive amount of pile up on the fences. _Where's the fence cleaners? Shouldn't they be out here_. Unless. The power of the situation hits me and I realize there really aren't enough healthy people left.

"Come on, I need you to help me get these support beams in," Rick waves his arm and I pick up the pace. We get right to work and Rick holds up a log and I nail a stake into place. It holds. We move onto the next one until there's about ten up.

"Think they're ok?" I ask Rick, referring to the people in A.

"If thangs were goin' bad, we'd a heard more shots. Maggie would've come and gotten us," Rick reassures me, "We have to do this." there's no denying it, without these supports, this fence is going to crumble. But still, I look at Rick and I don't see a farmer, I don't see a man that willingly stands by as he knows people are being attacked. He's doing this because he has to. And if he had a choice, if he wasn't trying to set a good example for his son, he'd be in there right now. Doing what he was made for. I don't tell him this, I can't. This has to be done.

Rick goes for the next support beam and I hold onto the stake that's gonna keep the beam up.

"Want some help?" I offer

Rick shakes his head, "I got it." I help him anyway and we get the beam into position.

"Alright, set it down," I bend down to reach for my hammer when I hear a very bad sound. Cracking wood. I look up and one of the beams is bending. In a heartbeat it snaps and Rick and I run to it. He tries to keep the fence up with his body, but right away it's no use. Another beam goes down and the walkers push through. My heart pounds at a million miles an hour.

I turn and run and hope Rick's behind me. I hear the roar of moaning walkers and I can hear them thumping along behind me. I push my legs harder and I sprint faster. My lungs burn. I can't stop. I won't stop. Never.

I hear stumbling and I whirl my head around, "Come on Rick!" I scream and he pounds after me, recovering. I don't know what I'd do if Rick died on my watch. I doubt anyone would ever forgive me. We make it to one of the fence-side watch towers and I throw the door open, Rick runs inside and slams the door shut a moment later. We're safe, for now.

Rick's panting hard and so am I, but the groan of walkers on the other side of the door tell us we're not finished yet. I hear them, piling up, more and more. Like all the walkers in world heard the news and came to the all-you-can-eat Rick and Sam buffet.

"Go!" Rick shouts and I turn and get to the other side of the tower. I throw the door open and out we go. There's the fence though, and there's the walkers. Never far behind. The push against the fence and I know a second wave is on the way.

I force my tone clear and even, I turn to Rick, "What do we do?"

He looks around and he's reluctant I know, I know what we can do, but he offers something else instead, "Maybe I can back the bus up against the fence."

"It won't hold," I shake my head.

Rick sighs knowingly and he pushes me along, "Come on." Rick knows what we have to do. The fence strains to hold them back and I know exactly where we're headed. We just have to get there.

The armory. Really it's just laundry carts pressed up against the fences filled with weapons. But right about now it'll do just fine.

Rick hands me ammo first, I stuff my pockets with as much as they'll hold. Next he hands me a semi-automatic gun. "Got it?" he asks. I nod. It's heavy, but not overwhelmingly so. I think most of it is me holding a weapon as dangerous as this again.

The walkers are shaking the fence, they can smell us. So much fresh meat, so close and yet, so far. I gulp hard. _Ok, Rick. Crash-course me on automatic guns, you have approximately one minute before those walkers break through that fence. Go._

The adrenaline is pumping so much now that Rick's voice is just another echo among the chaos, I force myself to focus and listen to what he's saying, "Listen to me. Magazine goes in here." He points to the bottom, he slides his in, "Release his here." he points somewhere else, "Make sure it latches." he smacks the magazine in one more time, we're running again towards the walkers, "Pull back the operating rod, the rounds speed up. Squeeze the trigger for rapid fire, ok?" he looks to me for confirmation, I just swallow my fear and doubt and just nod.

"You shoot, or you run," he tells me. I gulp even harder. I can't run. There's no way I'm running, "Don't get close." his eyes are the same color as Carl's and they are set determinedly on me. Just as I turn to the fence, it tumbles down. And walkers begin to pour through. They stumble and stagger towards us and my finger hits the trigger and I aim. I forgot how good I was with a gun. My first few shots are messy and only hit in the chest, but I adjust to the kick back and soon it's head shots near every time.

It's a blur really, all I know is the sun keeps moving and we keep shooting, my shoulder begins to ache, but I don't stop. Not until they're all on the ground. I don't think about anything else except for where I aim and my proximity to the nearest walker. They never manage to get within five feet. Rick shoots with twice the expertise I do and we make good progress. Then one gets too close and Rick's out of ammo. He slams it in the head with the butt of the gun and I finish it off. I toss Rick an extra magazine and he loads it up, I continue to shoot, but I can feel his eyes burrowing into the back of my skull. I realize that he's thinking about how similarly Carl would act in this situation, and then I realize that Carl is the one that's supposed to be here right now, not me.

_More walkers_, I tell myself, _don't get distracted_. I take down four or five more. Then I'm empty. I pull out the empty magazine and slide in the new one, I smack it and make sure it's in place. And I start up again. Down they go. One by one.

Then they're all down, and the one's we hadn't completely done in we stab out their brains with what we find. It's tedious, but I'm exhausted, so it's ok. Between the silence and the gut wrenching noise of brains being squashed. I hear a new noise. I look up.

It's a car.

Daryl.

They're back.

"Go!" Rick urges me, someone has to open up the gates, "I'll finish up here."

I drop the gun and the crowbar that I'd been holding, it's nearly sunset now and I'm sprinting. All the energy that I thought had faded comes back to me. I'm at the gates and I'm yanking on the pulley and the gates open, Rick's not far behind and he gets the real gate. I close the orange doors with the pulley system and I run to the car that pulls up the gravel driveway. It stops and people pile out, Rick shuts the big gate and I help people with their bags.

I offer to run it up to the main prison and Michonne and Tyreese nod. Daryl and Bob say thanks, but they've got it. I wouldn't have helped Bob anyway. I run, and as I run I pocket some of the antibiotics and supplies for an I.V. but I hope that it won't have to come to that. _It's for Carl,_ I remind myself. _It's for Carl_. I only take enough to go unnoticed but get the job done at the same time. I find Hershel at the entrance to A Block and I hand him the two bags filled with medications. He thanks me and I finally stop running.

The adrenaline ebbs the longer I walk. Rick catches up with me again. He tells me that I've done good. But I'm not really listening. I know how he looked at me. He wasn't shocked. He was reminded. About what we can do. What we're capable of doing. Me and Carl. We never really changed.

We walk into the admin building and Rick calls for Carl, once, and I wince. Twice, still nothing, three times. And Carl walks from around the corner. He wears the hat and the sleeves on his flannel are rolled down. He looks a little better, the fact that he made it here that quick is comforting. But his shoulders sag, and his hat is drawn close over his face. He's just covering up so his dad won't see.

"Where've you been?" Rick examines his son, I stand behind Rick, only to observe. Carl looks at us for a moment, and I subtly make a rocking motion with my arms.

"With Judith," he says almost immediately, he does the cough thing to clear his throat.

"Why didn't you come when I called?" Rick narrows his eyes, "Or when you heard the gunshots?"

"I figured Sam had it under control," he shrugs. I swear our brains are on the same wavelength sometimes.

Rick nods a little, gritting his teeth, "Well, next time, I expect you to come when I call you, alright?"

"Alright," Carl nods, Rick nods at his son and then leaves. When the door shuts behind Rick, I go to Carl and he leans against me. His breathing is labored.

"I got the meds," I tell him and he nods, I look around the corner and it's clear. We walk by the room with my books and Carl stops.

"What is it?" my eyes go to his filled with concern.

"I want you to get a book and read it to me," he says.

My eyes light up and I look at him curiously, "Oh really?"

He coughs and nods, "Will you please fulfill the sick child's wish?" he says with a mocking tone. It takes me back before the world went to shit, when you watched those commercials about terminally ill children and you called in and donated money.

I give a little laugh and we go into the office. I make sure Carl is comfortable in the stray office chair that is pushed into the corner and I go to the desk.

"And what would Mr. Grimes like for me to read for him?" I use the same tone as Carl and he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Surprise me," he chuckles, he shifts in the chair and it squeaks. I look in the desk drawers again, and I can feel his eyes on me. But it's not the same as with Rick. He's not shocked, or even horrified. It's different, and it makes my whole face go red. I flip through my classics, and one story in particular makes me stop. _Peter Pan, the Story of the Lost Boy. _

I look up at Carl, his eyes are still pretty dim, but they are soft on mine. My face burns with a blush and then he realizes he's been staring and he turns red too. I offer a shy smile, some things just don't change. I stick the book in the waistband of my jeans, zip up my jacket, shut the drawer to the desk, and walk back over to Carl.

I extend my hand to him and he takes it. I pull him up and I wrap my arm around his waist and he puts his arm my shoulder for support. He's shaky on his feet you know. He lets go of me whenever we pass a room with people in it, but once the coast is clear, he leans heavily on me again. We get him back to the room and carefully we get him on the ground. He lies down with his resting on the pillow and blanket. I kneel beside him, he looks up at me, and I remove his hat. I stand back up and grab the supplies that sit on the table. I reset up shop next to Carl so every time he needs something new I won't have to get up again and again.

I deposit the stolen medications from my pockets. _There goes one never._ I read the labels and give them to Carl accordingly, on top of the Delsym and aspirin. He gags again after downing the cough syrup. And I give him another bottle of water. He tries to be more conservative with this one. Once he's all drugged up, I realize that my stomach is grumbling. We never got the chance to eat. I tell Carl that'll I'll be right back, and I go to where we normally serve the food.

"Hey, is there any leftovers?" I ask Beth

"Yeah, there's some for you and Carl," she nods in front of her. It's two plates of mostly fruit, but also a little beef jerky.

"Thanks Beth," I give her a gratuitous smile and take the plates. This is will go nicely with the saltines I found. I'm about to turn and leave, but she catches my arm.

"I know Sam," her eyes are still on mine and I swallow hard.

"You can't-" I begin, she cuts me off.

"I won't, but just know, what you're doing is stupid," she turns back to Judith and I walk away. My gut tumbling around with mixed emotions.

I nudge the door open with my hip and kick it closed behind me, _there's Carl_, _he's still here_. I tell myself. It's all gonna be ok. I give him his plate and he nods at. He eats slower than I've ever seen him eat before, but that's probably only to keep his gut in check.

"How you feelin'?" I ask once I've eaten all my fruit

"Better," he nods a little.

My heart pulls sadly, and the question that's rung in my mind finally comes out, "You don't plan on leaving me, do ya?" I ask honestly. He looks at me for a moment, dim, blue eyes sad against my ugly blue gray ones, which too are sad.

"Never."


	15. Secrets

I've always been sort of a mediocre secret keeper. It helped when I tended to keep quiet and generally away from people. But things happen, they also do. People change. I've changed. And sometimes secrets become too much to bear on your own.

I got about half way through_ Peter Pan_ before Carl passed out. His fever had come back, but the antibiotics fought the way they should and now his skin no longer burns. He's still sweating furiously and I'm scared that I'll have to hook up the I.V., which could go one of two ways, bad or very bad. I could ask Beth, she probably knows. Since Hershel used to be a vet and all. But I don't want her reminded that Carl is sick and he ISN'T in A Block. Plus exposing her would be too dangerous, Judith and the kids.

_Judith._

She was around Carl when he was starting to come down with it. It wouldn't take much to do her in. _Stop it Sam. You have better things to worry about. If it was going to happen it probably would've already. All you can do now is try and keep Carl away until he's better._ And he will be. I know it.

I don't sleep a lot that night, I'm too scared something will happen. I blot his forehead with more damp napkins, trying to keep him cooled down. It's a rather effective method really. He's peaceful when he sleeps, so it's not like I mind. But every now and again I think about him waking up and seeing me staring at him and I start to blush.

At some point, the weight of my eyelids is too much to bear and I pass out. It's not a deep sleep, but it's something, the day has thoroughly exhausted me. I wake up when I hear stirring beside me and I jolt from my slouching position where my arms are wrapped around my bent legs and my head hangs between my knees.

Carl gives a small cough, but it's not as deep and painful sounding as the ones he's been giving, "I didn't mean to wake you," he mutters in a half asleep trance. He sits up on his own and stretches.

"No, it's fine," I shake my head, "I needed to get up anyway."

He finishes stretching and just looks at me and chuckles, "You are a terrible liar."

I roll my eyes, "How are you feeling this morning?" I press the back of my hand to his forehead, it's normal.

"A lot better," he nods and I believe it. Better safe than sorry. I reach around behind me and grab his morning meds. First the antibiotics, because those things are miracle workers. Then the aspirin, then the Delsym.

Carl lets out a groan when I hand him the cough syrup, "Do I have to?"

I give a very stressed expression, "Yes, Carl."

He halfheartedly glares at me through his dark, messy hair, and even his eyes are brighter this morning. This could be a good day. This could be a very good day. He reluctantly swallows the bitter cough medicine and his physical reaction is the same as it's ever been. And I laugh a little on the inside. He runs his teeth over his tongue and we just sit there for a bit.

"I think I'm gonna go see if I can help my dad today," Carl says after a long period of just silence.

He's better, but I'm not sure if he's that much better, "Carl, I'm not sure-"

"He knows something is up, I have to show him everything is fine,"

_But everything is not fine_, I want to tell him. Instead, I just shrug, "You're still pretty weak. What happens if you pass out, or start coughing up blood, or, or-"

"Sam," his eyes meet mine, and his hand rests against my upper arm, the weight is almost welcome and comforting, "I'm not worried. It'll be ok,"

I bite my lip and study him again. After a moment I release a sigh, "Only if I can come with you. Just... Just in case," the proposition makes me anxious. My hands sweat nervously and I rub them dry against my jeans.

He nods, "Alright, if that's what it takes." He smirks and I gnaw on the inside of my lips.

I turn around and grab the hat, "Come on now, we'd better get going." I stand up and help Carl to his feet, he's at first shaky on his feet, but the more we walk around the room, the stronger he gets. His breathing is not labored the longer he moves, and I'm beginning to think miracles can come true.

He doesn't have to lean against me as we walk to get breakfast.

Beth sees us, then I see Judith.

"Carl. Stay here. I'll get us some food. But, just stay back. Okay?" I hope he understands. He looks at his baby sister and fear registers in his expression. Yes, he understands just fine.

"Ok," he nods and I leave his side. Beth gives an approving nod, there's already food that's been set away for us and I quickly grab it and exit. I hand Carl his bowl and we eat just outside the room. This morning, it's more oatmeal with some of the fruit Rick brought back yesterday.

Carl's head is bowed as he eats, still slower than normal, but a little faster than yesterday. The hat falls over his eyes and his hair drifts forward. His eyes are focused on the food. He still eats that way, with almost a desperation, and I know there must have been a point where he went hungry some days.

I remember those days, before Woodbury, when this whole thing first started. One small can of beans for the four of us, to serve as nourishment for the next two days. I don't look back fondly on those times minus the fact I had my whole family.

We finish up and I leave the bowls just outside the door. Carl gets himself to his feet and we head out of the admin building. It's not long before Carl sees Rick and calls after him. He takes off jogging. I follow behind, I bite my tongue hard trying to keep calm. _He's fine_, I tell myself. _He has to be fine_.

"Hey!" He calls, "You didn't wake me up!" Probably for the best he didn't, but still. Gotta make it seem like he's alright, right?

"Thought I'd let you sleep in," Rick replies, turning to his son. I decide I'll hold back. Just watch from a distance and make sure things are ok.

"I could help," Carl tells him. His posture is better today. Like he knows he can actually hold himself up. Rick looks carefully over his son. Trying to look for whatever he saw yesterday. But dare I say, it's gone.

"I'm good," Rick nods, "I gotta go talk to Daryl."

"Right now?" Carl's voice drops with noticeable disappointment.

Rick looks at his son a moment longer, "No," he shakes his head, smacking Carl playfully on the shoulder with his work gloves, "Let's, let's go," he nods out to the field where they farm. Good father-son bonding I suppose. I'm really not needed here. I look around and I see Michonne loading some walkers into the back of the truck, probably to burn.

"Need any help?" I ask as I approach. Michonne studies me for a moment. Her dark skin glows from the reflection of the sun's rays mixed with her sweat. She's been out here a while. Her dreds are pulled back partly with a tribal print head band and she wears a vest over a cream sleeveless sweater. Her army green pants are tucked into her combat boots and she's got her katana strapped to her back.

"Yeah, if you aren't afraid to get your hands dirty," she decides

I shrug, "Anything to contribute," I push up the sleeves of my jacket and I readjust my beanie, I yank off my finger-less gloves and I push them into my back pockets. Then I help her pull the next corpse onto the pile.

"I'm sorry about your dad," she says after we've moved a couple more.

The memory gives me a sharp pang in my chest, but I have to shake it off, "It's done. Can't change what's happened." my shoulders are more slumped now, and I just can't seem to pull them up.

We pull up the last corpse when I hear the uneven steps of someone behind me, I turn around, Hershel. Michonne walks to him, but I stay back.

"You headin' out?" he asks

Michonne gives him a knowing look, "You wanna come?"

Without much hesitation, Hershel nods, "Hell yeah." a smirk passes my lips. Only then does he see me.

"Aren't you supposed to be in quarantine?" he inclines his head towards me.

I bite my tongue so I don't turn around with '_aren't you?_', "Yes sir." I nod, "But Carl's out here, so I figured I might as well contribute too."

Hershel nods after a moment, "Let's get going then, let's not be wasting daylight."

I look over my shoulder and I can just see the brown of the sheriff hat mixed in with the bright green of the plants. He's there talking with his father, holding back his secret.


	16. Blood

Blood is probably one of the most natural yet artificial things that exist. Appearance or otherwise. There's the blood that pulses through your veins and basically keeps you alive. And then there's your family blood, which is physical yet metaphorical. Then there's walker blood, it's black and vile and is so repulsive it seems fake. But we've all got blood, walker or man, and sooner or later, it will spill.

The ride just past the gates is short and bumpy. I'm crammed between Michonne, who drives, and Hershel, who takes shotgun. I have to pull in my shoulders and lean forward just to try and keep 2/3 of us comfortable.

Daryl and Bob open the gates for us and we go off road to the right, literally just outside the fence. We find a good spot, Michonne puts the car in park and I jolt forward. Then we pile out and begin to unload the corpses for burning.

There are two big tanks of gasoline; we pour both of them over the mound of walkers. Then Michonne finds a nice big stick, dowses that in gasoline, Hershel lights it on fire and throws it. I watch as the gray and the rotten turn orange in the licking flames, only making the smell worse. Now it burns, now it spreads. Like they do, even the fire that burns them. It spreads the smell everywhere, so you can never really escape them.

I just stare for a while, immersed in the sight. It's almost beautiful in a disgusting kind of way. The way the fire claims everything it touches, the one that will always win in the end. Even against walkers.

"Sam," Michonne calls me and I turn away, I realize that they'd walked away a long time ago, and they've been watching me. I duck my head and follow after them, ashamed of how the sight dulled my senses.

I'm just walking, studying the ground when there's an abrupt clunk. I look up and Michonne is lying on the ground, standing above her is a man that I once considered a protector, savior even. But now, as he stands over my friend's, my new family's body, the only term that registers now is murderer.

The Governor.

Hershel starts to pull out a gun, but there's already one pointed at Hershel, The Governor shakes his head a little. Hershel slowly puts the gun down on the edge of the trailer. He raises his hands in the surrender position. My eyes wide in disbelief and fear. The gun doesn't move. My heart pounds hard in my chest and my hand moves for the knife.

"Don't even think about it," the Governor growls and the gun moves to me, "Long time, no see."

My skin crawls at the sound of his voice. A thousand nightmares roar in my head coming to life all at once. We knew he was out there! We knew! And now he's right under our noses.

_I could scream._ It'd get me killed, but I know I'd be heard. _Save Hershel and Michonne. Save the prison from the Governor. I could do it. I could do it._

_Sam. You're talking crazy. Even if you were heard, the Governor could get away. Kill Hershel and Michonne right along with you. Don't do this. There's another way. We can all live through this._

"How's your dad doin'?" He's just wasting time, "He up there right now? Missin' his little girl?" my arms are trembling. Between his voice and the grief all I want to do is strangle him.

"When he finds out what you've done he'll kill you," I force my voice to come out clear. I'm not going to tell that monster. I can't.

"I'm sure he will," the Governor chuckles, "but until then," I hear footsteps behind me, a swing, and then the world goes black.

When I wake up I'm crammed in between Michonne and Hershel again, but this time, I have duct tape over my mouth an my hands are wrapped together in front of me. My heart accelerates as I see a hand whip into my peripheral vision and I wince at the sound of ripping.

Michonne. The duct tape has been removed from her mouth. The Governor. He rips the duct tape.

"Don't touch me," Michonne's lip curls at the monster in front of her. Can't say I blame her. If I could break free of my bonds, I'd have the Governor's throat in my hands, squeezing and squeezing until he no longer struggled in my grasp. This is the man that cut my family in half. Mercy is not associated with this kind of evil.

I pull at my restraints, but they hold firm. The duct tape is rough and pulls at my mouth.

"Stay still," he says evenly.

"Never." I tell him, but the duct tape muffles it to 'hmhm,' so I figure my point isn't brought across.

The Governor walks to a place a few feet away, behind me, so I can't see. I look around and decide we're in an RV. He comes back with wrapped packages, "You should eat, it's gonna be a long day. Nobody's gonna hurt you." There he is again, the Governor that everyone fell for, the kind, giving man that would lead everyone through hell. But that's not him, not really anyway.

Hershel speaks up, "I don't believe that." I'm the only one with my mouth covered now, _fantastic_.

The Governor goes and sits on the small couch that's about 4 feet away. Too far for me to reach out and kick. I mean, I could stand up if I wanted. It's clear our bondage is not as severe as it could be, as it probably should, like we could get up leave any time, but he'd shoot us. I see the gun on his belt. What a fool he is, thinking he could lull us into a false sense of security. He is messing with some medical supplies and I study him, wondering what tortures he is going on put us through, "Well I don't care."

"Just tell us what this is," Hershel requests evenly. He's a good man, Hershel. His age has brought wisdom, something this world needs, "Please." he adds, trying to get through to the Governor is trying to walk on water.

"Isn't personal," he continues to pick through cotton pads and alcohol.

"Then what is it?" Hershel sighed

He ignores the question, "Michonne, I just want you to know," she cocks her head slowly at the insane man, "Penny, my daughter, she was dead. I know that now." I've heard the stories. They say it's how he went crazy, losing his daughter. But I've never thought that, I've thought he was insane all along, Penny just made it worse.

"I don't wanna hurt ya," he explains, "I don't wanna hurt anyone. I need the prison. That's it. There are people I need to keep alive. Y'all are gonna help me take it. No one needs to die." his explanation almost sounds tired. Like he's tired, tired of what though?

"I'm gonna kill you," Michonne vows

"No you won't," the Governor looks up from his idle sorting.

Michonne doesn't stop though; her muscles are tense pressed next to mine. This seat wasn't made for two people, let alone three, "I'm gonna take a-"

Hershel interrupts her, "Stop it." he's doing what he does best, negotiating, "You want the prison?"

"Yeah," the Governor nods, his head is still turned away from. _What punk, you too scared to look? Can't own up to your actions?_ These are things I could never say out loud. Hell I wouldn't normally think, had I not been in the presence of such an evil thing, "I'll take it from you as peacefully as I can." he's trying to distract himself from the medical supplies now. My eyes narrow, this is not the Governor I know and hate. He's different. Could he have changed? Trying more... peaceful methods? Rather than trying to shoot them- us all out, kidnapping a few and using our lives as a bargaining chip. Measuring our worth. _Are the lives of the three of us combined worth the prison? Are we enough?_

"Governor-"

"Don't call me that," he starts to turn back at us for a moment. _Whoa, whoa, whoa, don't call him Governor? What the hell are we supposed to call him?_ I bet the Governor has some really stupid weak name, like Roger, or Nelson, or Phillip. Ha, that'd be the day.

Hershel shakes off his comment, "Your people, our people, we can find a way to live together. These people you need to keep alive, do ya love 'em?" Hershel asks. The Governor begins to turn towards us again, and then stops. His hands push on his knees and his mouth is pulled small.

"You're a good man Hershel. You're a better man than Rick," he sighs.

"Everything you said, the way you said it, you've changed," Hershel tells him. Good, I'm not the only one that sees it. Michonne on the other hand, she's still brittle and tense, ready to strike at any moment. She doesn't like this, not one bit.

The Governor gives a small shrug.

"So has Rick," Hershel explains, leaning forward a little. Michonne casts a glance at me, part of it is worried, another is concerned, to see if I believe this bullshit. I see the change, I don't trust it.

The Governor turns so I can see his face in profile, the most he's turned since he's sat down, "The two of us. We'll never be able to live together. Michonne and I, will never be able to live together." I see three fourths of his face now, and he turns back around. His reluctance makes the air stiff, every movement, every word, it just feels wrong. Then again, I do have a piece of duct tape stuck to my mouth. That seems like the Governor.

Hershel pushes further, "We can find a way-"

The Governor turns completely, "I found a way!" he shouts. Hershel and he exchange looks for a long time, "Tryin' hard. All kinds a way I could do this. This way you get to live, and I get to be-" he trails off and just stares at the ground. A madman, lost in his own thought. He looks down for a moment then stands, heading for the door. He opens the door and starts to leave, but Hershel stops him.

"You say you want to take this prison as peacefully as possible, that means you'd be willing to hurt people to get it. My daughters would be there. That's who you'd be hurtin'. If you understand what it's like to have a daughter, then how can you threaten to kill someone else's?" Hershel looks him in the eye, the one eye. The other is covered by that awful eye patch. I don't even know if that eye is there anymore. Not since Michonne. I press my shoulder more against Michonne's someone else that's there. That just wants this man dead. The pressure is almost comforting.

The Governor stares back for a long time, wordless, not speechless, wordless. He doesn't have to use words; it's not that he can't. And I think that's how it's going to be, just an endless stare, but he does speak. And when he does, there is a serious lack of facial movement, like the words just come into the air instead of passing his mouth; "Because they aren't mine." he stares a moment longer, but now at no one in particular. And then he opens the door again and leaves. Now it's just us and the stale air, in a trailer home that appears to belong in a different time.

We just kind of sit there for a while, and then I see Michonne look over at me; she moves her bonded hands towards my mouth, "Here, let me help you with that." I sit still like a good girl and make myself not flinch, "I'm sorry, but this is gonna hurt, I'll do it real quick though," he words are quick and soothing. And she's right, it's quick. It also hurts like hell. But there's no blood, no broken skin, no real harm done.

"Thanks," I mumble

"No problem," she sighs. And it's silent again. It's silent for a long time. There's nothing to say, nothing to do, just wait. After a while, Hershel hands me some of the wrapped food. I hold the bundle between my knees and peel off the aluminum foil as best I can. Once I've peeled back enough, I grab little pieces of the sandwich off with my fingertips and I get it to my mouth. Once I chew and swallow, I offer some to Michonne and she declines, and then Hershel and he just shakes his head. But my gut is twisted up and I don't think I can eat anymore. So the sandwich just sits there in my lap, started, but unfinished.

He comes back I don't know how much later, could be minutes, feels like days. And he comes back with people. Three of them, one for each of us. I'd barely forgotten that he doesn't do the dirty work. A woman with long, wavy, dark hair takes me; she grabs me by the shoulders and leads me to a dark red, almost maroon car. She readjusts my bonds so that my arms are behind me now. They push me into the backseat, then Hershel, and the Michonne; I'm not in the middle for once. A man that I don't recognize drives, and we drive. The green of the trees passes by in a blur and I don't wanna focus. Because I don't want this to be real.

We drive until there's no more road, and I can see the prison in front of me. There's the place I've come to call home, with my friends and my family. Where are they all now? From what I can see, they must be inside. Oblivious to us and the danger that lurks not so far away. Have they even noticed our disappearance?

They don't get the chance to remain oblivious for long. There's the sound of shot, which came from something big, maybe a tank? _No way_. I look past the both of them, they sit at my right. _They've got a tank. _

_It's all good_, I tell myself, _we have Daryl. _

The sound of the explosion shakes the car and makes my ears ring. Sure enough, I can see little blobs of people pouring out from the prison. I think Rick's there too, with Daryl, Tyreese, Sasha and Maggie, and I think even Beth. I'm not sure whether my brain is making things up, or it's really there. But I swear I can also make out the figure of a lanky boy in a sheriff hat.

"Rick, come down here!" calls the Governor, I look again, he's standing on the tank, "We need to talk."

There's silence for a moment and then Rick yells back in his rough, deep accent, "It's not up to me! There's a council now, they run this place!"

"Hershel on the council?" the Governor asks, and a soldier starts walking towards the car. It's the one that pushed me in here in the first place. My heart pounds hard in my chest, and I'm sure they can hear it up at the prison. The door opens and they pull out Hershel. There's movement up at the prison, _they didn't know._

"What about Michonne?" he asks, and another soldiers pulls her out. I'm all that's left, "She on the council too?"

"What about the little girl, her daddy on the council?" And here comes my soldier. He reaches through the car and grabs my arm. I don't fight it, I don't wanna be shot in front of the others. He pulls me out and the sunlight burns my eyes. He walks over to Hershel's right and pushes me onto my knees. My chest rises and falls quickly, but I fight not to let my panic show.

"I don't make the decisions anymore!" pain chokes up on Rick's voice. Two of the most valuable people this prison has to offer, at gun point. And then there's me, I'm what they call expendable.

"You're makin' the decisions today Rick. Come down here and let's have that talk."

Rick's figure stands still for a moment, then it walks to Carl and he tells him something. Carl nods and stands there, as he watches his dad walk towards us. My eyes shift to Rick. I'm scared they'll just shoot him now. But they don't, it's just silence. My eyes shift up and Daryl has moved and is talking to the others now. I can't hear the words that are exchanged or even see their faces properly. Daryl nods to Carl and then Daryl walks somewhere else, he's watching us. When I look back for Carl again, he's gone. _Where has that boy gone off to?_

Finally, Rick's only fifteen feet away from the gates, "Let 'em go, right now. I'll stay down here, talk as long as you want. But you let 'em go. You've gotta a tank, you don't need hostages. Especially a kid."

"I do," the Governor replies, in his sickly even tone, "this is just to show you I'm serious. Not to blast a hole in our new home. You and your people have till sundown to get outta here, or they die." my heart is up in my throat now, choking me and pounding ridiculously hard at the same time.

Rick shakes his head and his eyebrows are not furrowed, they are not angry, they are scared, "It doesn't have to go down this way."

"More people, more firepower," the Governor points out, "We need this prison. There it is, it's not about the past, it's about right now."

"There are children here," Rick pleads, "some of 'em are sick, they won't survive."

This causes an uneasy shift in the Governor's army, like they might not completely agree with the madman anymore.

"I have a tank," the Governor bluntly points out, "and I'm lettin' you walk away from here. What else is there to talk about?"

Rick looks at us, all of us, even me. And he sees the fear in my eyes and he swallows hard, this doesn't sit right with him. I look away from Rick for a moment, and Daryl's moving around again, doing something. The laundry carts, I realize, he's arming our people. They're gonna fight back, good. I look around up there some more and I spot the brown felt of the hat again, he's back. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Then again, do I want him out here? Do I want him to run the risk of getting shot, again?

Daryl works his way over to Carl and hands him a gun. By that time, the others are all loaded up.

The Governor speaks again, "I could shoot you all, y'all will shoot back. I know that. But we'll win and you'll be dead, all of you. Doesn't have to be like that, like I said, it's your choice." I hear the growling of walkers echo throughout the dead silence. People turns their heads, I hear a gun click, and then bang. One down, bang, two down, bang, they all fall down.

"Noise'll only draw more of them over," he points out and there's almost a sick glee to his tone. Like there's no way that Rick could not want to just leave now. His argument is full-proof, "Longer you wait, the harder it'll be for you to get outta here." Rick stares for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, considering the possibilities.

I look up; Daryl and Carl have their guns pointed now, ready for the first person to make a step out of line, and then BAM. Headshot. They could end this right now. He could be dead. _Shoot Carl, shoot! I know you can do it!_

_Stop that!_ I chastise myself, _Shooting the Governor right now will only cause his men to start the war that doesn't have to begin. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. _

I gnaw on the inside of my lips, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife, it's so thick.

"You've got about maybe an hour of sunlight left," the Governor estimates, "I'd suggest you start packin',"

Rick looks at Hershel, and I shift my eyes to Hershel. Hershel's looking at Rick. He's slightly nodding, as to say what he's nodding for, I don't know. Then he looks down and so does Rick.

"The longer you wait, the harder it's gonna be for you to get outta here," the Governor tells him plainly.

Rick nods and then looks up, not just at the Governor or Hershel, Michonne, and I, but at his army, "We can all," he starts, "We can all live together. There's enough room for all of us."

"More than enough," the Governor agrees, "I don't think my family'd sleep well knowing_ you _were under the same roof. _You're one to talk_.

Rick shakes his head, he's trying, he's trying so hard, "We can live in different cell blocks. We'd never have to see each other, until we're all ready."

Hershel pipes up for the first time, "It could work," he turns his head towards the Governor, "You know it could."

"It coulda, but it can't," the Governor replies, "Not after Woodbury." I sneak a glance at Michonne and her face is emotionless as it glares ahead, "Not after Andrea."

"Look, I'm not saying it's gonna be easy. Fact is, it's gonna be a helluva lot harder than just standin' here shootin' at each other. But I don't think we have a choice," Rick pushes.

"We don't," the Governor nods, "You do."

"We're not leaving," Rick shakes his head firmly, standing his ground.

The Governor exhales angrily.

"You try and force us, we'll fight back. Like you said gunshots'll just bring more of 'em out. They'll take down the fences, this place is worthless." Rick explains, some of his old fire crackling back into his voice, his calm demeanor is holding through though, "Now, we can all live in the prison, or none of us can."

I hear movement behind me and I start to turn around, the Governor jumps down from the tank and the blood and the adrenaline pump heavily through my veins and roar in my ears. I hear the swoosh of a sword being removed from its scabbard. Now I can hardly breathe, my arms are rigid behind me. I struggle not to tremble. The Governor walks up between Hershel and I, mumbling about the fences. The katana blade goes to Hershel's throat. The Governor has two hands grasped tightly on the hilt. Motion ceases throughout the prison, everyone tensed and afraid of what'll happen next.

You," Rick points to someone in the Governor's army, "you in the pony tails, is this what you want? Is this what any of you want?" he gestures to the whole group.

The man in the tank speaks up, "What we want is what you've got. Period. Time for you to leave, asshole."

"Look, I've fought him before," Rick points to the Governor, "and after, we took in his own friends, they've become leaders in what we have here. That girl," he points at me, "she came from Woodbury, now I would do anything to get her safely back over here. Now put down your weapons, walk through those gates. You're one of us." the soldiers look around at one another, considering the proposition. Even the Governor looks up, his harsh expression starting to crack

"We can let go of all of it, and nobody dies," Rick's voice is desperate now. I know he's scared, he'll do anything to keep everyone alive. "Everyone's alive right now, everyone's made it this far. We've all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive. But we can still come back. We're not too far gone. "The blade moves from being pressed against Hershel's neck and I can breathe again. Yes, everything's gonna be alright. "We get to come back. I know we all can change." Hershel looks at him, and in that moment, I can tell, Hershel is proud of the man Rick has become. A slight smile forms on the old man's face. The Governor looks around slowly, almost in a stupor for a moment. He looks at the blade, that continues to be pulled away and then over to Rick. Who's standing there, almost wide eyed with desperation for everything to be alright.

A single word passes his lips then, "Liar."

Everything slows down, and then blade swings back, just barely missing me and it slashes into Hershel's neck.

Blood, all I see is blood, it's splattered on me, it's splattered on the Governor, and it's splattered on Michonne. And it's deep red color makes my churn. Because I can't see anything for a moment. Just the head that's chopped halfway off and the pure pain and agony that runs through my blood.

I scream and that's all I can do, but I'm not alone. They're screaming up at the prison. Hershel collapses to the ground and Rick screams something too, but I can't tell what it is because now guns are going off and I can only hear them. Hear guns and see blood, that's me. I roll to the ground and try and get out of the way, dodging behind the nearest truck. I can only hope Michonne does the same.

Now covered by the truck I get to my feet and try and work my bonds off. That's the first step, someone runs by, and I trip them. Then a blur happens, White hot pain succumbs my upper body. I'm on the ground. I see it on the ground and I feel it on my face and it feel it pulsing from me. Blood. My blood.


	17. Everywhere and Nowhere

There are times in your life, when things become so hectic and chaotic that you feel like you're everywhere and nowhere. Times like this differ greatly now than from what they were before. Before was more like when you're at a huge party where the bass of the music controls your heartbeat and you have to yell to have a conversation with the person just inches from you. You feel like you're everywhere and the only thing on earth. But still nowhere at the same time.

Now...

Guns rattle off in every direction, bouncing off cars or into people, but most of the time burrowing into the ground or trees. People are screaming, people are dying. I am both. Am I dying? I've never felt pain like this before. I feel like I'm drowning in death. Like I'm going to see all that I've lost soon. But then I think about all I would lose here. Carl. Is he still alive? Or has the sheriff hat fallen to the concrete along with the boy with the bright blue eyes. Have the eyes faded so much that not even the brightest day could illuminate them once more? Are they closed?

_He can't be dead._ Hope pulls at my chest. _He's survived so much more. He's fine. He's a survivor._ And Goddammit so am I. I know my face is covered in blood, but I don't care. I manage to sit up and assess my damage. The shot is on my left shoulder. It didn't hit my rib cage, so I'm safe there. It seems as though it was just below the joint where my shoulder and my collar bone connect. I feel my back to see if there's an exit wound. I hit the suspected area just a bit too hard and I see stars. I bite my tongue until the pain numbs out enough. Because that's just part of me right now, pain. It won't be repaired here, and I cannot just sit out until it can. I have to push through.

I stand up and all the movement is paralyzingly painful. My breathing is shaky and I force myself to move. The man who shot me is dead now. Someone else must've gotten to him.

_He won't be needing this anymore._ I pick up the gun that injured me. It's a semi-automatic with most of a magazine. Yes, I can do some damage with this. I run over to the next truck and I find a sight that makes me want to throw up. More blood. There's a still Hershel, head completely severed. Tears and pain want to pour from my body. But I cannot let that happen. Not now, I cannot. I push past the sight and sneak run behind the next vehicle. I stand up, shoot a man with dark hair, head shot. Move on. I gotta get in there. To my friends, I'm an easy shot here. I'm surprised I'm still alive honestly, Where's Michonne? _Is she still alive? Of course she is._ She has to be.

I hear It's voice. He doesn't deserve a name anymore. He is just It. It's just a disease, plaguing us nearly as terribly as the walkers, "Go toward the fences. Get in your cars, get your guns. We go in. Kill them all." that's it. No more sweet talk, no more nothing. Because It's just an empty shell now, anything It had left resembling a man disembarked when It decapitated Hershel.

The tank and cars all move forward until the fences are crushed beneath them. The bend and squeal and just the sound of it is enough to want to deafen myself. _Shit, they're gonna see me, they're gonna see me._

I walk forward with them, but I know I won't stay for long. I don't shoot at anybody. Can't draw attention to myself. Trucks pull away, so any shot of cover I had is gone. I run, and I don't stop. I hear the shots and I dodge them as best I can, I turn around and shoot down whoever I see. _One, two_. One's down. _Three,_ another. _Four, five, six_, one more. _Ok, that's enough, keep moving_. I run across the field, but I can't pump my arms to help myself because I'm almost certain that I'd drop on the spot from sheer agony. What I'm doing now is painful enough, and with each shot, I feel more and more in pure pain.

The adrenaline kicks in at some point, because one person shoots a little too close for comfort and a bullet whizzes by my ear. One arm pumps and I sling the gun over my back for more effective one armed pumping.

The tank blows holes in the prison and I see them, my friends and family, most are running. Towards the bus, that's where I have to get. I look to my right and I see two men. It and Rick. They're brutally duking it out beside the overturned bus. They're punching and throwing each other around, and then It throws Rick to the ground and begins punching him. My heart pulls into my throat and I want to scream. I raise my gun and aim at It's head. Then there's movement, Rick flails trying to get up and my finger moves from the trigger. I can't risk it. I settle for shooting at others instead. I take down three more and I sprint as best I can for the courtyard.

When I turn around to see who's left, I see something out past the fallen fences. Walkers, they're coming. It won't be long until we're overrun, and then what?

The prison is lost. The words register in my head for the first time. The place is well and truly lost. We can't come back from this. There's no way. What's important now is to find your family, or the next closest thing, and get out. To the bus preferably. For me, that thing is Carl, and I'm frantically searching for that brown sheriff hat, praying he's not dead.

I turn to where I saw Rick and It last, he's standing on Rick's throat now. No way I could miss. But I don't have to. A walker walks up behind It and I watch it all happen in what feels like slow motion. The walker takes a big bite out of It's shoulder. And It falls. My gun goes up real quick and I shoot the walker. It's so fluid, and just kind of happens. I wait for Rick to get up, I wait and I pray and my heart aches and aches the longer I wait. But he doesn't and eventually I have to look away.

My adrenaline over dosage begins to fade and my running comes off more as quickly limping. My shoulder feels like it's literally killing me. I sling the gun back across my back.

I hear an explosion and I look over, the tank is up in flames. I make it to the courtyard. Dust is kicked up in the air and I can't see through it properly. I don't have the energy to scream for anybody even though I know I should. I grasp my shoulder and I stumble a little further. I hear the moaning and growling and look up, two walkers.

I start to reach for my gun, but I hear a shot, and one goes down. Another shot, down goes the other.

The dust clears and I see him. Carl. My heart swells with relief and I want to run for him, but I stumble more. I feel my blood oozing between my fingers. Then I realize his gun's pointed at me.

"Carl," the word barely comes out as a whisper. . My hand reaches out for him. And I watch his face. It recognizes me, but at the same time looks pained, and the gun doesn't move. He pumps the gun, "Carl!" I call out as loud as I can manage. His eyebrows raise with relief and the gun falls, not only from aiming, but out of his hands completely. He runs over to me and nearly tackles me in a hug.

I'm so glad to be able to have him here. He's not dead, I'm holding him, he's alive. And the pleasure of it all is almost enough to forget how much damn pain I'm in. He's squeezing too tight, a gurgled gasp of agony passes my lips.

"You were right there, and then I saw you go down. I thought you were one of those things," he chokes on his words, "I was so scared I was gonna have to-" he can't continue.

"Hey, it's alright," I try and reassure him. He finally pulls away and looks over me, trying to wipe the blood from my face, his lip quivers.

"You're shot," he sees the blood that's dying my clothes an ugly color, "Oh my God, you're shot. Is there a-" his hand goes to my back, trying to find the-

"Exit wound," I wince, my chest heaves with the new load of pain that overcomes me.

"Have you seen my dad? Or Judith?" his eyes are so wide, and it's hard to believe he's ill.

"Carl," I start, and then he starts to walk over towards the field. Where I saw it happen. When he gets close enough, he stops and stiffens up. I only see one body. But the blood, it's everywhere. There's no doubt.

"No," he chokes out, "No, no, no, no, no. Dad!" he bawls, and tears are streaming down his cheeks. His chest is shaking and he's nearly hyperventilating. I just stand there, unsure of what to do or how. I put my hand on his shoulder, "No," he sobs; it comes out long and painful.

"Carl," the words come out quietly and gently.

"Judith. We have to find her." I let go, but I don't know how easily I'll be able to walk. Though he's drowning in his own grief, he realizes my issue and he wraps his arm so that his hand grabs my right shoulder, the good one. We walk slow, and he picks up his gun and a pack I hadn't noticed before as we go.

I think we help each other around the burning courtyard. But once we turn a corner. I see it. The end-all be-all of horrific. I stop walking and my bad arm goes around Carl and though it hurts me like hell, I hold him back as best I can.

There it lies, about fifteen away. Judith's carrier, empty, blood spattered and drenched in red. Carl makes us go forward and all I can do is mumble and tell him not to. He can't.

He's silent at first, he just sniffs and his eyes close, like he's trying to stay together. He's just lost his entire family. I know how that feels. I look up and there's another walker. Carl yanks away from me and I manage to stay on my feet.

He shoots the walker. It goes down, but he pumps it again, shooting it even though it's on the ground. He does it again and again and again until there are no bullets left and he's just tensed with his gun, pumping and pulling the trigger.

"Carl!" I call out and get over to him. I grab him from behind as he falls over. He's making these awful crying noises that make my heart ache too much. He bends over, and I'm worried I'm going to have to hold him up, which I can barely keep myself on my own two feet.

"Wegottago," I tell him, and he turns around and hugs me again. Not because he's relieved to see me this time, but because I'm the only one still alive.

"We have to go," I insist. He sobs again and nods, he settles his arm back where it was and we stumble away. We're both broken. Just in different ways.

We're headed into the forest now, and I feel Carl look back. At this point, my vision is tunneling and I can't tell how much further I'll be able to go on.

"Don't look back, Carl. Just keep walking," I choke out. And he doesn't.

"What're we gonna do?" he chokes out, scared and afraid, "Where we gonna go?"

I let out a distorted chuckle that I'm sure is associated with hysteria, "We've got everywhere and nowhere to go."


	18. Gone

Being gone is like being broken, you can reach the state of gone rather easily. It's not hard; you fade for a bit, your sanity kind of dips. You can always come back, unless you're too far gone.

We limp away from the prison until the sun starts to set. In that time I go from bad to worse and Carl has taken to mumbling angrily to himself. The tears that fell from his face have long dried. He doesn't let go of me, not once. His arm is rigid against my back and every now and then I look over at him. He just grimaces. His Beretta is strapped to its holster on his thigh. And his left hand fiddles with the gun and his mumbling gets louder and more unintelligible.

"Carl?" I cough out

His head shakes his head slightly, snapping out of his trance. and he coughs too, but mine was from being weak, his is from being ill, "What?" he looks at me.

"Stop," I tell him, and my feet stop moving. _Ok, maybe this was a bad idea_. Now that I've stopped, I'm not sure if I can start again. We're walking through a long abandoned neighborhood. The houses here are nice; I imagine someone once paid well to live in such a well-off area. Now some grungy kids are walking around the place freely.

I reach my right hand up and press it against Carl's sweaty forehead, he burns distinctly of fever. _It's back again_. Carl turns his head away from me and coughs into his elbow.

"We need to find a place for the night. You're fever's back up, your meds have probably long worn off," I tell him, my eyebrows raised with concern, "We'll have to search this neighborhood for what they've got tomorrow. But for now, you just need to lie down." my eyes look right into his, and the blue isn't as potent as it was this morning. The day and the illness have taken its toll on him.

He looks at me in disbelief, "Me? Rest? Have you seen yourself?" his voice cracks as his eyes run over me. His tongue nervously runs over his lips and he bites on them so hard they lose their pinkness.

"Ok," I shrug, "So both of us could use it. Point being, we need to clear out a place before we lose all light."

He nods slowly, still gnawing on the inside of his lips, "This place is as good as any." he nods to the house that's sits directly to the left of us.

"Can you walk?" Carl looks at me nervously. I lift my arm from him, and there's a coolness left behind from him not being there. He moves his arm away and I manage to stand.

"Yeah," I nod. I force myself to stand up straight, and I try to walk like I can.

Carl walks in front of me, so I let my shoulders slack a little, because my vision is starting to cloud from the pain radiating from my left one. I still carry the gun that injured me, it's still pretty full if I'm recalling correctly. My knife is surprisingly still strapped to my waist, I'm surprised they looked it over after being in It's clutches like I was. I'm armed, I can do this. I hold up the gun, ready to fire at whatever comes my way.

"I'll go in first, you keep watch," he turns around to me.

"No," I shake my head, "Carl. You know I can do this. I'm not gonna stand here alone waiting for nothing." my eyebrows knit together and I look at him as seriously as I can manage.

"But-"

"But nothing Carl. You're nearly as bad off as I am. What if a walker sneaks up on you? We're not splitting up." end of discussion. I think he's too exhausted to waste any more energy on a pointless argument, he turns around and he opens the door. We push in fast and look all around, pointing our guns in all directions. It's clear from what we see. I go left, and Carl goes right. He shuts the door behind us and we go to work.

Making sure each room has no walkers. It's a slow process, opening doors, quickly scanning with a pointed gun, and when you're sure there's nothing, move on.

I go through a few rooms and then Carl ends up in the room in front of me.

"Carl!" I call

"I got it!" he snaps, I'm caught off guard by the way he asserts himself at me, he looks at me and must read the look of shock on my face, because then his voice softens out, "All the doors down here are open. I've got it, alright?"

"Just, stop, be careful," my voice is soft, because I can't make it any louder. Not only am I not supposed to, I physically can't anymore. He turns around and puts down his gun, giving me an aggravated look.

"You sound like my dad," he rolls his eyes, then his eyes look away, he's regretting his words. Then a strange thing happens, a look of pain becomes a look of anger. And it's like he's not looking at me anymore, he's looking past me, and his hand clenches into a fist and he slams it against the wall, "Hey asshole! Hey shitface! Hey-"

I rush over to him, my hand rests on his shoulder and I look him dead in the eyes, "Carl. Stop. There's none of them down here. If there were, we woulda seen 'em come out, alright? There's no reason to go breaking the walls down," a small smile forms at the corners of my mouth as I lighten my tone.

He blinks again, and he's snapped out of it, "Right, let's just check upstairs." still obviously fazed, all the anger has not quite left his expression. I give him a sympathetic look, the smile fading away, I rub his upper arm reassuringly and I nod, turning away.

We head up the stairs and follow the same procedure. We meet up in this one room, the last one; it's obviously once belonged to a teenager. It's kind of broken into two parts, the main room and then sleeping area, with the bed. There are posters still hanging up on the walls of bands that have long disbanded for dying reasons. Trinkets and knickknacks line shelves. There's books too, oh my precious books. And there's a TV in the corner, flat screen. Next to it is a pile of video games that Carl immediately flocks to. A smile spreads across his face and he holsters his gun, he sets the pack he's been carrying on the ground, and picks up one of the games. He looks over it for a moment, then it's like he's scolding himself for getting caught up in things that don't matter and then throws it on the ground. I take a small step back at his actions. He pushes down the rest of the games, and then yanks the HDMI cable from the console and the TV. He wraps it around his hand and then walks out of the room without another word.

I follow him downstairs, the sun has gone away now, and he's harder to see. I watch by what little light I have as he goes to the door, there's a knob that used to hold back a curtain, he starts wrapping the cable around the two and then ties a knot.

"Will it hold?" I ask, the words speaking my mind though I didn't grant them to pass my lips.

"It's a strong knot," he nods, and he sounds normal, but then the look of anger comes back, and it's like he's gone out of sync again, he looks slightly to my right, to a figure that isn't there, "Clove hitch, Shane taught me. Remember him?" his words are bitter, like he's trying to make me hurt. But not me, someone else. But there's no one else here. I haven't the slightest of who the hell Shane is.

"Carl?" I speak up, and he looks at me, anger breaking.

"Yeah, it'll hold." he insists.

I linger a bit longer, worried about him, but then decide I'd better scope out the kitchen. Gotta try and find us some food. Carl walks by and heads to the backyard. It's fenced in, he should be fine. He's gotta a gun, and if he screams, I'll come.

In the kitchen, the fridge is open, food is rotten in there. It gives off an awful odor, but I persevere and in reward, I find three large, unopened water bottles. I place them on the counter; I open the cabinets and find a couple unopened bags of pork rings, a still sealed bag of beef jerky, and a box of cornflakes. _Yes, we shall feast like kings tonight._ I'm about to call Carl in and show him the haul, but then he starts yelling.

I pull my knife from its holder and a burst of adrenaline rushes through me, and I run out the door. Then I hear the words he's yelling and I stop, I freeze. I'm only in the doorway. I don't think he's noticed me, he's yelling to the clear, night sky.

"I killed so many walkers." he shouting, but his voice quiets down, "But they were attacking us. So it was ok, you would've expected that from me. I saved her, Sam, she's here with me now. We found a house. There weren't any of them here. So I didn't have to kill anymore." he pauses for a moment, and he looks down for a moment, then he glares at the sky again, "I didn't forget though, while you had us playing farmer. I still know how to survive. Lucky for us. I can keep her safe. Better than you could've, playing it safe on the sidelines. It didn't help in the end, did it?" his yelling again, screaming even, "I don't need you anymore. I don't need you to protect me anymore. Not that you can protect me anyways," he chokes up a little, , "You couldn't protect Judith, you couldn't protect-" he stops again, like he can't say who he lost, it's too painful, but then he crescendos again, starting out small, at a hiss, until it gets bigger and bigger all of his fury and anger boiling up, screaming at the sky, "Hershel, or Glenn, or Maggie, Michonne, Daryl. Or Mom."

He drops his biggest bomb and it all connects now. It's his dad, he's talking to his dad, I choke up a little, but he ain't done yet, "You just wanted to plant vegetables. You just wanted to hide. He knew where you were and you didn't care." he's back to screaming, and I'm scared he's going to draw walkers. _Let him release it, it has to be done_. I tell myself, "You just hid behind those fences and waited for-" he stumbles on his words, like he's trying to find a point in his rambling, "They're all gone now! Because of you! They counted on you! You were their leader!" he stops, and it's like he can't stand being on his own two feet anymore. He sits down and pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. His head lowers, his forehead resting on his arms, "And now," he's quieter now, "You're gone too." he sniffs, and I think he's finally done. I walk over to him, my feet crushing the grass, making noise. I sort of stumble, my hand goes to my wound, it hurts like hell. But not as badly as my heart aches. He doesn't look up. I know he heard me, but if I were a walker, I don't think he'd care.

"Carl," my voice is that uncontrollably quiet again, my hand rests on his shoulder, "I, uh, I found food. Let's get something in you, alright?"

He looks up and he looks afraid of me. Or not of me, just what I think of him, "How much did you hear?"

"A lot," I admit, I give him a sympathetic look, "it's ok. I miss my dad too."

He stands up and he hugs me, he tries to be gentle, but he starts to break down again, and he squeezes a little too tightly. Tears slip down his cheeks and onto my blood drenched jacket.

"Am I insane?" he mumbles into my good shoulder.

"No," I shake my head, rubbing his back, "You're just human. And ill." my tone lightens up, half teasing him at the same time, "You're an ill human who's sleep deprived and needs some food. Come on now," I let go, and he releases me almost reluctantly, I take his left hand with my right and we walk back into the house.

We grab a bag of pork rinds and one of the bottles of water to split, then we head upstairs. We don't really talk about it, but I think we both feel safer sleeping up there.

We pass the pack and I stop, he's taken to helping me walk again, so he has to stop too. I nod towards it, "What's in there anyways?"

"I ran into the prison and grabbed what I could. Dad said in case things head south." He chokes up, "So this is what I managed to get away with."

We sit down there, and he goes to unpacking, "I got most of what we had in that room, well minus your clothes and the pillows and blankets. They wouldn't fit, I'm sorry."

"'s alright," I shrug.

"However, I did get away with all the meds," my eyes grow wide as he empties all of the bottles out, even the Delsym.

"Oh, Carl, this is great!" I instantly start to pour out the dosage Carl needs, and I put them all in a pile, including the aspirin. He takes a swig of water and takes all the pills down in two chugs. I pour the Delsym and he gives me an unhappy look, but drinks the stuff anyway. He tries to hide his reaction, but it's still there. He eats a couple pork rinds to help ease the flavor from his mouth.

"Alright, you fixed me up. Now I'm gonna help you out." He gives me a pointed look, "You better be thankful you aren't coughing, or else I'd be giving you a whole lot of Delsym." He smirks for the first time since we were at the prison and I can't help but break into a smile.

"I am fortunate indeed then," I smirk back at him.

"You get that jacket off," Carl nods at my jacket, "I'll go see if there's any bandages or gauze we can use to cover up your wound. Take some aspirin. Maybe 3." He stands up and pats my good shoulder. He walks out of the room.

I gingerly remove my soiled jacket and my shoulder screams in protest. Tears fill my eyes and I blink them away, biting hard on my lip. I slip the sleeve of my tank top off my shoulder and I finally see it for the first time.

I bite my tongue again, must keep my dinner down. It looks about as bad as I feel, and suddenly I don't want Carl to see. I don't want him to see how bad it really is. I fix the strap so it's back where it belongs. I take the aspirin like I'm supposed to, and I drink some water and eat a few more pork rinds.

Carl's back after a few moments and he crouches down beside me, balancing on the balls of his feet. But he's not as stable as he could be. I reach out and grab his shoulder, steadying him.

"Let's see it then," Carl sighs, a ball of gauze wadded up in his hand.

"Carl, I'm not sure..." I trail off.

"It's ok. I know what it's like." His eyes are soft and understanding. His moods can switch so quickly.

I reluctantly move the strap, exposing my shoulder, Carl grimaces, "It's a lotta blood. I'm sure it won't look as bad once we clean it up." He stands back up and removes his dirty flannel shirt and rips off part of the sleeve. I think I saw some rubbing alcohol in one of the cabinets, I'll be back." I nod, and once he leaves, I look around, my only aid in light being in the moon. There's a bar with clean clothes hung on it. They were obviously a teenage boy's.

In a strange way, I can imagine this being Carl's room, if the world hadn't gone to shit. It just seems like the kind of room he would have. Same kind of clothes too, t-shirts and flannel.

I stand up and I go to the rack of clothes. I'm definitely wobbly, and my head is still feeling a bit foggy from all the blood I've lost. I grab one of the flannel shirts and I turn around, Carl's inches in front of me, I didn't even hear him come. _God, I'm really losing my edge._

"Here," I hand him the flannel, "Since you ripped the other one."

"Thanks," he takes it, "I got that rubbing alcohol, and I found some Advil." He shows me the two bottles.

"Good," I nod. He slips the new flannel onto his shoulders, but he doesn't button it up, exposing the dirty t-shirt underneath. Sometimes you can't hide it all. The flannel is gray and blue, it's bright and looks almost new. It goes well with his eyes if I do say so myself.

"Now, let's clean you up," he tries to put a confident air in his voice. We go back to the pack and I let him play doctor.

He dowses the ripped part of the shirt in the rubbing alcohol, he starts to move toward my shoulder and then he looks at me to see if I'm ok with it. I nod and he gingerly presses the cloth against my shoulder. It burns like hell and I want to scream. Instead I clutch Carl's empty hand and I squeeze it hard.

He cleans off most the blood. And it's clotted up at the circular hole, so I'm not bleeding anymore. Carl's right though, it doesn't look nearly as repulsive once it's been cleaned up.

"I'm gonna get the back now, ok?" Carl looks at me and I nod in confirmation. He rips off another part of his old shirt and repeats the process. I bite my tongue until the bitter taste of blood fills my mouth. Then Carl moves back in front of me.

"Um, to wrap the gauze properly, you're gonna have to..." He trips over his words and even in the near darkness I can see his cheeks flush. I get it, I have to get my shirt off, or at least completely remove one of the sleeves. Which is basically him asking me to partially strip, even if it's just the strap of the tank top.

I'd do it for him, but I'm not sure if I can do it right. So I slip my arm out of my tank top and he can't quite look at me. He wraps my shoulder as quickly as he can, still keeping the quality of the wrap in mind. Once he's done, I slip my arm back into my shirt and I get up. I walk to the clothing rod and grab another one of the shirts.

"You go ahead and get settled, I'm gonna change." I nod my head backward towards the door, and he nods his head in understanding. I turn around and leave the room, I turn to the left and head down the hall. The bathroom is the second door on the left. There's a window without the blinds shut so moonlight streams in through and hits my face and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

The image scares me and I understand how Carl could've thought that I had turned. My face is almost entirely covered in blood, except where Carl tried to wipe it off, mostly around my eyes. My hair is a tangled mess, filled with grass and dirt, I'm pretty sure my beanie is knotted around it, because it's still hanging in there. My shirt is drenched in blood and my eyes have dark circles around them. My eyes themselves look even uglier than usual, they are faded and dim. They look like walker eyes. The white bandaging looks out of place on my dirty skin. Like it doesn't belong.

I know it's a waste of water, but I can't leave my face like this. I grab a hand towel and give it a new purpose. I spare 4 bottle cap full's of water and use them to clean my face off, and try to bring back some of the humanity.

I scrub most of it off, and now I just look exhausted, but at least human. I try to untangle some of the knots in my hair with my fingers, but it's pretty bad. I manage to yank out my beanie and re-situate it on my head. I yank off the bloody tank top. I hope it rains soon, I'm going to need to clean my jacket and this shirt, winter's coming and I haven't many clothes to work with. I slide the new-to-me t-shirt over my head, it's baggy on my circumstantially-slender body, the shirt hangs to the middle of my thighs. My jeans are ripped at the knees and I honestly don't feel like sleeping in them tonight. The shirt covers enough. I unlace my Docs and pull off my jeans.

My eyelids are heavy, they've finally decided it's safe enough to sleep. My body concurs completely. I ball up my clothes in one hand and my boots in the other. I shuffle towards the room where Carl is and I peek my head in.

"Hey, I'm gonna go sleep in one of the other rooms, you gonna be alright in here?" I call. He emerges from the little half room with the bed.

"No," he shakes his head, "It's ok if you stay in here. I won't bite." his cheeks are flushed, nervous about what he just proposed. He smirks a little at the bite line. He obviously doesn't realize I have a severe lacking in pants. So I step so that I'm halfway in the doorway.

"But you need the bed, you're sick," I point out, trying to not play out the thought I had going in my head. He looks me over and I think he blushes even more.

"You're injured, you need it just as bad. Plus, I thought you agreed you weren't gonna leave me," he explains in almost a taunting way. But it's not quite as successful because his cheeks are so red.

"I'm just gonna be next door," I try and tell him. He walks over to me, stopping to let out a brief cough on the way.

He grabs my hand, and his voice cracks, like he doesn't want to let on his desperation show, but really he can't help it, "Sam, please, I _need_ you. The way you needed me. Nightmares, remember? I get them too," Of course, I can't imagine why I didn't catch on earlier. He's lost so much today, he'll be hit hard tonight. So I finally agree.

He offers to help me get to the bed, and I agree, I don't really want to put my weight on him, especially since he's weak. But it's not like he'll ever admit to that. He's too stubborn. But I'm also too exhausted and in too much pain to care. I kind of throw my clothes by his pack, but we don't stop for that. He helps me onto the bed, and I scoot over to the far side and Carl bends down to grab something at the foot of the bed. I immediately cover up my bare legs with the bed covers, and I sit cross-legged, the wall propping my back up, waiting to see what he picked up.

"The meds weren't the only thing I got, you know," Carl tells me, and I narrow my eyes, confused for a moment, "now there wasn't much time, and so I only grabbed a couple. And I know it's not much. But, I couldn't think about us leaving the prison without them."

He shows me two books. _Little House on the Prairie_ and _Peter Pan: the Story of the Lost Boy_. I gasp escapes my mouth and I look at him in disbelief. I reach over and hug that kid. Of all the things he could've grabbed, and he got the books.

I pull away and I study him for a moment, he could be gone. And maybe he is, just a little. But he can come back, I know he will. He certainly isn't too far gone.


	19. Rest

Sometimes, the best medicine is just rest. A good night's sleep can do a person a hell of a lot of good. But not all night's sleeps are good, nor can they be. But resting is always good, and sometimes that's all we've got, especially now.

That night I sleep well, and I assume Carl does too, because he doesn't wake me. Or maybe he doesn't sleep well, but I'm too deeply asleep to notice.

When I wake up, sunlight is already streaming through the window onto my face. Judging by the angle the sun comes from, I'd estimate it's mid-morning.

I turn around so that my back faces the wall. Carl's there. His eyes are nearly back to their usual bright blue and they are the first thing to greet me. His hair is already sweaty, like he's been out this morning. I notice that he's changed into a blue and gray baseball tee.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask him, I prop myself up on my right arm, resting my cheek against my palm.

"Ok," he shrugs, "A couple walkers were trying to get in earlier, I lured them away."

"You didn't hurt yourself I hope?" I lift my eyebrows curiously.

He smirks a little and shakes his head, like he's laughing at something only he knows, "Nope, I had everything under control." Everything? I sit up and press the back of my right hand against his forehead.

"Fever's gone down," I comment, "have you been coughing?"

He shakes his head, "I haven't taken any antibiotics this morning either."

I let a smile, "Good, that's good," I'm feeling woozy already. I move my shoulder, trying to situate myself, and pain hits me hard, and I blink rapidly.

"Lay back down, you shouldn't over exert yourself," Carl instructs. He pushes slightly on my right shoulder. Ha Ha. I get it, he's only doing to me what I did to him. I'm ashamed of my weakness. _I wasn't this weak yesterday, why should I be today?_

I obey his orders though, lying back down, "We're alike now, you and me," I give him a hazy smirk, "we're both shot."

Carl smiles back at me, but then a more serious expression crosses his face. Like he's remembering. Then he removes the sheriff hat and places it on my head, grabbing my beanie with the other, he makes the switch. He pushes it down and a smile spreads wide across his face as he studies mine with the hat on now, "You're in the club now." Oh, I feel so special. I just grin, and then I grin even more when I get an idea.

"Lean over," I instruct him. And he does, I take my beanie that's balled up in his hand, and I push it onto his brown locks. Carl gives me an unsure look, and I let out a small laugh.

"Not too bad Grimes," I chuckle and he smirks, shaking his head. I'm not joking either, he could make it work. If he were that kind of guy. But he's not. He doesn't ride skateboards and rock out to Indie music and make whatever he does look cool. He's the sheriff hat wearing, shooting walkers, time hardened kind of guy. And personally I favor the latter more.

I start to take off his hat and hand it back to him, "It looks better on you," he stops me. I shake my head, and I tell him to lean over, and I switch the beanie back with his hat. I try to push the hat down, but it doesn't go very well and the hat ends up falling over his eyes. I chuckle a little, and he does too, pushing up the brim of his hat with the bent flat of his pointer finger.

"There, much better," I smirk again. Everything comes out easily this morning, maybe it's because I'm so weak, so I don't think through my words as much. Maybe it's because I'm not trying to hide anything from him, trying to protect him from the truth. Or maybe it's because you have to find some light to guide you through your darkest days.

"I, uh, changed your bandaging while you were asleep," he blushes, and it takes me a moment to realize what he's saying.

I snort, "Yeah, whatever," I shrug, trying to act like I don't mind, when really I feel like blushing too. I squeeze my beanie in my hand, trying to release some of the nervous tension in my hand.

"We're running low on bandages, so I'm probably going to need to clear some of the neighborhood today. To get other stuff too, but especially bandages." He tells me. I don't like the idea of us splitting up. Especially if he means to keep me cooped up in here.

"I can come with you," I offer.

He shakes his head, "No, you need to stay here and rest. Get better. We can stay here for a few days, but then we gotta move on."

"Carl, I'll be fine. Just give me a couple hours to rest and then I'll be fine. It wouldn't hurt you to rest as well, you know." I point out.  
"Sam, I don't know. You can hardly sit up." He frets, his thin lips pressing together nervously.

"I'll. Be. Fine." I insist. My eyebrows raise, trying to see if he'll challenge me.

He sighs, "Only a few hours. But if you still need me to help you walk by then, you aren't going." His tone is insistent and final. I glare at him for a moment.

"You should rest too, I know it looks good now. But it could come back. Do your body a favor and nap." I plead. If we can get at least one of us back to 100% that'd be fantastic.

But until then this is the way it's gonna be. I take care of him, he takes care of me. We take care of each other. And it feels right. Like this is the way it's supposed to be.

Carl listens thankfully, and he lays down next to me, he places the hat over his eyes and rests his head on his hands which he's folded beneath his head. His eyes close and his mouth is slightly parted. He's out in a couple minutes and I follow him into the darkness of sleep not long after.

When I wake up, Carl's turned over onto his stomach and one arm is splayed protectively over my torso. The hats fallen completely off and his breathing is even and deep. All good things. I want to believe that the flu has finally left him and he's my normal healthy Carl again. He certainly seems that way. But I know too well that can change in a matter of hours.

He starts to twitch and lets out a noise that could almost be classified as a whimper. He bolts to the sitting position and his arm is off of me in a moment. He is breathing heavy and I sit up and look at him.

"Carl?"

"I, I'm fine." He shakes his head, "It was just a bad dream." His knees are pulled up to his chest and his arms are tightly wrapped around his legs. No, he is not fine.

I gently rub his back, "It's ok. It's ok to miss them."

He chokes up a little, "It's just hard to believe they're all dead, you know? Like yesterday I was just talking to my dad and now he's...he's..."

"Carl, you don't know that. You don't know they're all dead." my voice is soft and gentle, trying to reassure him. If I say it, it means I believe it, right?

"You honestly think he wouldn't have looked for me if he was still alive?" He looks at me in disbelief.

"Carl. We had to get out quick. Some of them have to be alive. There's no way. They can't all be gone." I rub his forearm and he grabs my hand, holding it tightly.

He looks at me, his eyes intent on mine, "I'm glad I got out with you. I'm glad you're not dead too." he smiles a little.

I blush, ducking my head, "Well I'm glad to have you too. Now come on, let's get something to eat and head out."

"You gonna be alright?" He looks me over.

"Yeah, like I said, resting does a hell of a lotta good." I shrug. He chuckles and then he gets up off the bed. He helps me to my feet. And I pull the t-shirt down as far as it'll go. My legs feel so exposed.

"I'll run down stairs get us something to eat, if you wanna get ready or..." His eyes run nervously over me, "whatever it is you need to do. Then I'll be waiting. Just don't take too long." He's still on edge. And not just from the nightmare. I suspect he'll be that way for a while.

He turns and leaves without another word. I look back at the bed after a moment of just nothing. He left his hat. I just shake my head. Silly Carl, forgetting your hat. I pick up and carry it to the pack that's still sitting on the middle of the bigger room. I set it down and grab my pants.

Getting ready is a slow process, mainly because I can only effectively use arm. But eventually I've tugged my jeans on and I haphazardly tie the laces to my Doc Martens. I grab another of the flannel shirts that hangs on the rack. I tuck in the T-shirt and roll up the sleeves of the black and gray flannel shirt. It hangs long and loose on my body. I situate my beanie properly and I grab Carl's hat and make sure the pack is empty and take that with me downstairs too.

"Forgot your hat," I call, as I step into the kitchen. He springs around, his fingers hovering over his gun. It takes him a moment to see it's me, and he moves his hand away.

"You startled me," his voice shakes slightly.

I look him and then his hand which is still dangerously close to the gun, and then back at him, "I can tell."

"Still feeling up to going?" He moves his hand completely away now. But his arms are tensed still and his eyes are wide.

"Yeah," even if I wasn't, there's no way I was letting Carl go out on his own. I hand him the hat.

He looks over my outfit again, and he chuckles a little, like he's trying to relief tension, but he's also honestly amused.

"What? Do you have something to say about my extremely comfortable and attractive shirt?" I tease.

He smirks, "No, no. It looks great." he can't help but laughing a little more. I roll my eyes.

"Here," he hands me a bowl of dry cereal, "this is what we've got."

I take the bowl from him and I go through the drawers until I find a spoon. I grab my spoon and sit at the table in the dining room, which is the next room over. Carl sits across from me, he's already finished his bowl.

"Man," I sigh, "I wish we had some soy milk or something." I wouldn't say it's good, but it's certainly better than just eating it plain and dry.

His lip curls, "Seriously?"

"Have you ever tried it?" I lift a questioning eyebrow at him

"My best friend in third grade, he was allergic to dairy," Carl begins.

"Uh huh," I nod, narrowing my eyes slightly.

"And every day, he'd bring this soy stuff to lunch. I tried it," he explains

"And?" I push

"I threw up!" he laughs again

"Yeah right," I roll my eyes and take another bite of my cereal. It's Corn Flakes.

"Alright, alright," he confesses, "I _almost_ threw up, but I was like_Bleahhh_!" he mimics puking actions. And I let out a laugh and he's laughing too, and the mood in the air is all light and good.

I shake my head at Carl, _silly boy, overreacting._I roll my eyes, and he's trying to convince of its grossness.

"It was so gross! I mean literally! I'd rather have powdered milk, than to drink that stuff again. I would rather have Judith formul-" he cuts himself off. And he stops, staring at me. His eyes start to dim before my own. They drown in his slip of words. And he gets up, pushing his chair back. He sets the hat on his head which had been previously resting next to him on the table.

He starts mumbling to himself again and I think I catch a, "Hurry up and finish," and then he's gone. Back into the kitchen.

I don't call out for him. There's no point. No amount of comfort or reassurance could really fix him. It'll just take time.

I finish up my cereal staring at the wallpaper on the walls, cursing myself for bringing something up as stupid as soy milk in the first place.

I walk back into the kitchen and Carl's leaning up against the counter, head down, his eyes are hidden by the brim of the hat. He has hi gun out and he's fiddling with the safety. I set my bowl in the sink, like I would've if I still lived in my home. If I still had a home. If I still had a family for a home._Stop it Sam. You can't be like this now. You have to be strong._

It clinks when the bowl hits the sink, and Carl's head bolts up, he's obviously been startled, again.

"Come on," I nod my head towards the front door, "we should head out." he nods but doesn't say anything. My gun rests by the front door and I pick it up as we head out. Carl insists on taking the lead again, and I shake it off._Let him be 'Big Strong Man Carl', I don't have a valid reason to protest._He walks a couple paces in front of me and I hold my knife. The gun is slung over my back. No reason to waste ammo unless we have to. We go house to house, picking up what we find. Anything that could be useful. We find water bottles and cans of soup. One house has peach preserves and Carl and I both agree that we're sharing that tonight.

We get to this one house, and Carl stops on the walkway to pick up one of those solar powered lamp things that stick into the ground. He pulls it out and one end is at a point, though admittedly not a sharp one. He looks at me, and I indicate my knife to show that I'm fine. He nods and he walks onto the porch, I follow him, curious to see what that boy is thinking. He pauses for a moment and then charges at the door, slamming his shoulder into it. The door doesn't give and Carl smacks against the ground on his back. The hem of his shirt rises, and there's a small band of skin exposed between the waistband of his pants and the hem of his baseball tee. I hold back a smile, for two reasons. One of them being that was just plain funny. "Dammit," he grumbles, looking up at me, "Little help?" I roll my eyes and extend my arm. I pull him up and the hat falls off. I bend down and set it on his head.

"Better your shoulder than mine," I offer, he rolls his eyes. He tries again, this time, starting with his shoulder pushed up against the door, he picks at the lock and his shoving avails.

We get into the house and it's immediately clear, its riches are plenty. But before we can plunder the kitchen, we have to check upstairs. I leave my gun downstairs, because it's only getting in my way, and the strap cuts into my shoulder painfully.

Carl leads the way up the stairs and there are three rooms, two have opened doors. He says he'll check out the first room which is to the right, he nods at me to check out the second, which is straight ahead. B

There's a sign on the door, Carl walks over to me and nudges me with his elbow, "Hey look, Sam, it's your room." he cracks a smile and I nudge him back, rolling my eyes.

"Ha ha." I laugh dryly, "Don't you have a job to do?" he rolls his eyes at me and goes to clean out his room. I walk in and it becomes comes clear quickly that it's clear of walkers. I find some Tylenol in a nightstand drawer. There's a connecting bathroom, and I find the gauze we need. There's a ton of it too. I pocket it all, along with a book I found on the nightstand. Have to start building up on my stash again. I close the door to the second room, just as Carl's closing the door to the room he checked out.

"Find anything?" I ask, he nods, he indicates that it's in the bag and we go onto the third room. The one with the closed door. I put my loot in his bag and we walk to the farthest door.

I pull my knife out and start to open the door, I move slowly, but it doesn't last for long. A walker lunges out and tries to push through.

"Shit!" I yell, and Carl and I push hard to get the door shut. It's rotting arms stretch around trying to grab us. Dried blood forms at it's knuckles and it's skin is ugly and gray. My gut lurches at the repulsiveness. I don't think and use my left shoulder to help force the door shut. The adrenaline flows thickly through me so the pain is less severe, but I know I'll regret my decision later. Carl's pushing too, and the hand is close enough to grab his hat. We push hard and its other arm snaps against the door. The bone gruesomely breaks the skin, and black blood oozes out. Carl moves from the door so he can get a shot at the walker and it flings the door back.

I'm thrown against the wall and fall with a thump to the ground my knife flies out of my hand. I see Carl trip, his gun aims poorly and two shots fire into the ceiling. I get to my feet as quickly as I can, I reach for my gun and curse aloud when I remember it's downstairs, I don't have that kind of time.

The walker is closer now and Carl lets out one more shot. It hits the walker and it falls to the ground, giving Carl enough time to get to his feet. I search frantically for my knife._Where the hell is it?!_

It crawls towards Carl and I am powerless, I have to hope. Then I hear Carl's gun click, it's empty. _Shit_. It grabs Carl's foot and he kicks it away. It comes back, hungry for fresh meat. It paws hungry for Carl's flesh. He kicks and kicks again, his teeth not quite purging Carl's skin. I get to my feet and kick the walker in the head, I don't break the skull. Unfortunately.

I pull Carl up and I push him into the room with the sign that reads my name. We shove the door trying to get it closed. There's books in the way. Oh come on! I shove the door shut as much as I can and try to hold it there. Then Carl goes to the window trying to open it up. The walker pushes me back and I'm trapped behind the door. I see it's ugly peeling head stumble towards Carl.

"Carl!" I scream, he's frantically trying to get the window open, then the walker's only a heartbeat away. Carl grabs the lamp and slams it into the walkers head. The walker goes to the ground, but pulls Carl down with it. I get out from behind the door and grab Carl's arm. The walkers got a hard grip on his leg and his teeth are going for the ankle.

"Not today, shitface." I growl, I pull Carl up and away, but the walker manages to steal his hiking boot. I kick the books into the room, and slam the door shut. Carl stands beside me panting. His back is against the door and his chest is rapidly rising and falling. I keep my back to the door as well and my hands are on my knees as I try to catch my breath. I look up and him and next thing I know is he's tackled me with a hug.

"Jesus Christ, Sam. You saved my life. I would have been walker bait." his unsteady, shallow breathing pushes through my hair, and there's an agonizing pain coursing through my upper body.

"Shoulder," I croak. It burns insanely and I just want to sit down and not move for the rest of forever, but we don't have that choice. Not anymore.

He releases me, and reaches down for something. At first I think it's the bag he dropped, but no, there's some spilled art supplies on the floor. He picks up a piece of yellow chalk on the floor. He writes in messy, boy-like handwriting, on the door. It reads

_Dead inside_

_Walker got my shoe_

_Didn't get me. _

I smirk, _Oh Carl. _

"Better?" I lift a teasing eyebrow at him, he nods.

"Then let's head downstairs and finish this place off," I nod towards the stairs, and he nods, still a little out of breath. He grabs the bag and we walk downstairs, back to the kitchen.

I'm cleaning out one cabinet which is filled with canned goods and powdered milk, and Carl cleans out one on the other side of the kitchen. I look around and then something catches my eyes at the top of the cabinets.

"Carl," I nod up at object. He looks up and his eyes grow huge.  
He finds a stool and stands on top of it, then he steps onto the counter itself. He's about nose level with the object now. He reaches and grabs the object with relative ease. I step towards him, ready to steady him if he loses his balance.

"Got it?" I ask. He crouches down and then steps back onto the stool, and onto the ground. There it is. Chocolate pudding.

"Yup. 112 ounces," he's grinning like a fool.

"That's seven pounds," I marvel at the beast that Carl holds.

"You don't think we could eat it?" he challenges

I scoff, "Oh, I _know_ we could eat it."

"Then why don't we?" he suggests

"Where?" I look around, almost all the surfaces in the house are covered in crap. I mean, we could take it back to the house, but that wouldn't feel right.

Carl narrows his eyes, his expression twisting, thinking for a moment, "On the roof,"

"What?" I look at him like he's crazy.

"You heard me," he lifts a devil-may-care brow, "Beautiful view. He comments, "Perfect place to rest, also the perfect place for a first date."


	20. Little Things

They say in life you have to stop and smell the roses. Appreciate the little things you have, you know? Or else they may ripped from your hands at an age too young and now you walk with the dead. Sometimes I miss the little things. There just aren't enough anymore.

I couldn't have heard him right. There's just no way.

"Excuse me?" I look at him, my eyes wide with disbelief.

He gives me a look that clearly reads '_you heard me_.' His cheeks are flushed, but he still has a smirk on his face. He hands me two spoons and then grabs my empty hand. The can of pudding rests in the crook of his other arm. We head back upstairs, I see the glint of my knife's blade on the ground at the top of the stairs and pick it up, sliding it back into its holder where it belongs. We go into the first room and climb onto the roof through one of the windows. The layout is simple enough so that crawling out the window puts you on the roof. Carl goes first and then I crawl through. His feet are dangling over the edge. One foot has only a dark blue sock. We'll have to find him another one soon.  
I sit next to him so that my legs dangle over the edge too, and my right shoulder is pressed against his left. He scoots a little closer so that his hip is touching mine and I swear there is an agitated swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

I offer him my knife and he cracks open the pudding can. I hand him one of the spoons and he trades me for my knife. I slide the knife back into its holster and make sure it's secure.

"Are dates even a thing anymore?" I look at him curiously after a while. It's been maybe a half hour and we've made a pretty good dent on this can of pudding. Holy crap, I forgot how good chocolate pudding was.

"Well, I'm here, your here. We're eating at a location, enjoying each others company. I'd say that pretty much defines a date," Carl cocks an eyebrow at me. I roll my eyes, _watch it there, you're getting a little big for your britches, sheriff._

"I don't recall ever being asked out," I tease him, nudging his shoulder with mine.

He looks over at me, "You came didn't you?" I just smirk and roll my eyes.

"Was I gonna say no?" I point out. I didn't exactly have that option. Even if I did, I wouldn't have.

He shrugs, "Fair enough,"

This would all be much more romantic, what with the slowly setting sun and the odd, yet welcome serenity that claimed the dead neighborhood. Well dead except for us. It was almost like we brought light to the old place, our presence bringing warmth and hope to a place that might've forgotten. However, there was one issue. The growling walker stretching its gray fleshed, reanimated arm out the half-opened window about 10 feet to my left behind me. It pawed hungrily for us, desperate for something it would never grasp.

I continue to dip my spoon into the can of pudding and swallow the large bites that I pull out. I feel hungry, and I want to eat more, but that sound. It makes my throat close up uneasily.

"He's killing the mood," I comment to Carl, nodding back towards the walker. I could shoot it, if I had my gun, but that son of a bitch is too unpredictable and the noise would only draw more.

"There's a mood?" Carl turns towards me with surprise. His cheeks are flushed slightly, but he's grinning, his eyes bright. Sweat's beading up on his forehead again. And my shoulder pounds with the constant reminder. _It can't be this way all the time_. Even if I want it to.

Now I'm blushing, I duck my head a little and take another bite of pudding, "Well, to a degree." I take my spoon in my left hand for a moment, and I reach my right hand and press the back against Carl's forehead. Carl gives me a look and steals my hand away.

"No, not right now. I don't wanna think about that. Not me being sick, not your shoulder. I just wanna think about... about us." he swallows nervously and his eyes stare into mine.

"Oh, uh, okay," I stutter and he doesn't let go of my hand.

"Carl," I remind him, "I need that hand to eat."

He sighs and reluctantly lets go of my hand, "Thank you," I tease, and I switch which hand the spoon is in.

It's quiet for a long time, and the sun is setting right in front of us, "Do you ever miss the little things?" he asks me, the can of pudding is three fourths gone.

"Like school and TV and internet?" I turn towards him, intrigued.

"Well yeah, but even simpler than that. The smell of a new comic book, the feeling of waking up on Christmas morning. Hearing your favorite song come on the radio?" he looks away, almost longingly. And I realize that these are all things, even if she were still alive, Judith would never know.

"Yeah," I sighed, letting myself remember the old days, "When the new book of my favorite series would come out. I miss that feeling. Reading it for the first time, knowing that there were so many other people reading the same words as I _for the first time._ And we'd all finish and feel the same rage of the cliff hanger at the end." my gaze drifts, a nostalgic grin claims my face, and it's like I'm swimming in a sea of sentimentality.

"You are such a dork," Carl laughs, and it's a real laugh, the kind I like. With a real smile, and the way his eyes shine as they look at me. Yes, I could live with this all the time.

"Oh come on!" I shove my shoulder at him playfully, "You're the one talking about that new comic book smell. And you were gawking over those video games yesterday. I'd say you're the real dork." I'm smiling real smiles now too, and my heart swells with the happiness in the air.

"You're prettier when you smile," Carl says, just like it's an observation with no real consequence behind it.

"-Er?" I lift an eyebrow

His cheeks are blazing red, "I mean you're always pretty, but..." he looks down and I blush too.

"Some pudding, eh?" I indicate to the blob of pudding on my spoon and pop it in my mouth, changing subjects, trying to release some of the tension.

"I think this is one of those little things," Carl comments. And I agree, just the taste of pudding in my mouth, the consistency, the sweetness, the pure pleasure of eating something not for survival, but because we want to.

It goes back to silence, but it's a comfortable one. By the time the first stars start to shine in the sky, the pudding can is emptied. We toss it over the edge with our spoons without another thought. I start to lean against Carl, but the undying groans behind me make me so uncomfortable that I can't stand it anymore. I stand up and walk over to the walker. He paws for my ankle, but I crush its hand under my foot. I slam the window down from the outside, and there's the sickening crunch of bones and the window's closed now. The walker's complaints muted.

I kick the detached limb aside and sit back down next to Carl. I lean my head against his shoulder like nothing has happened, and his arm finds its way around me. He doesn't set his hand on my other shoulder though, there's enough pain radiating from it to begin with. Instead his fingers curl around the side of my ribs, and pull me closer to him. I can't help but notice his elevated heart rate that pounds against my ear, and way his fingers are slightly trembling.

Of course, I'm not free of this anxiety, as I really can't control the fact that my own heartbeat is so loud I know he can hear it. Not to mention the butterfly World War III going on in my gut.

He doesn't say anything and I don't either, I don't want to ruin _this_. Whatever _this_ is. The sky gets darker and then I spot a shooting star. I point it out to Carl, and then he spots another one. Then we both see another, and another, and another. They begin to rain down, little streaks in the sky.

"It's a meteor shower," I realize with astonishment. Even though our world has crumbled, nature continues to go on, like it always has. Without much discussion, we both scoot up so our legs no longer dangle off the roof and we lie back, my head still on Carl's shoulder and his arm is still around me protectively. He takes off his hat and sets it on his other side. I let out a comfortable sigh and we just watch the stars fall. Only they aren't really stars, they just look that way.

Crickets chirp and cicadas sing their one note tune. The cool night breeze blows lightly through the trees and onto my exposed forearms and through my hair, Carl's body radiates warmth next to me, so I'm not cold. It reminds me all of my place back at the prison, and suddenly I long for it. I remember that night that Carl followed me and how I nearly fell off the stupid platform. My shoulders lift at my slight laugh at the memory. Carl casts me a curious look, silently asking what's so funny. I tell him and he nods, smiling, remembering as I do. My belly is full and I am content, for the first time in what feels like forever.

"I'd say this was a pretty good first date," Carl speaks for the first time in a long time, and his voice is pleasant to my ears.

"I would not disagree," which is an understatement. My eyes are getting heavy, and I know that I'm going to fall asleep soon. I don't want _this_to end though.

"Am I gonna have to carry you back to that house?" Carl turns towards me.

"You will do no such thing." I strictly tell him. I know that fever is back up, our time out of the real world is running out. My shoulder throbs as a constant reminder.

"Well, we need to head back," he sighs. He knows too, we can't stay in this little bubble of joy and falseness forever.

"Alright," I sigh, and I sit up, he follows and I crawl over to the window we left open. I squeeze through and when I stand on the ground again, I wait for Carl. He lacks grace even more so than I do. He kind of tumbles to the ground and his hat falls off. _That silly boy_. I pick it up for him and dust it off. He stands up and I give a little smirk as I place it back on his head. I pat it down firmly in hopes that it'll stay.

We head downstairs and pick up our bag and my gun. Then we head out the door, our fingers are interlaced as we walk down the lonely street. The moonlight guides us home, and our heads turn warily about, waiting for any walkers that might sneak up on us.

We get back to the house we're staying in safely and we go in through the back door. Carl locks the door behind us and then we head back upstairs. We go into the room we're staying in and I walk towards the pile on the ground composed of meds and my clothes. We empty out our haul and then I start to measure out the medications Carl needs. I do tone it down some, only half what I'd normally give. And I don't even pour the Delsym because he hasn't coughed in a while. He takes the medication without complaint, he knows his fever's back up. Then he tells me to take off the flannel shirt, so I do. I work my arm out of the loose t-shirt sleeve, which hurts like a bitch. Then Carl unwraps the bandaging and his teeth grit as he looks at the wound, even in the dim moonlight he can tell. It's red and swollen, infected. He cleans up the wound with more pieces of his torn up shirt soaked in rubbing alcohol, trying to get rid of anything that could help incite the infection more. When he's satisfied, he re-wraps the wound, he helps me get my shirt back on and then stands. He helps me to my feet and decide I'm too tired to change much besides kicking off my shoes. I do that much and he takes my hand again

We head towards the bed we're sharing when Carl stops me. I turn to him confused at first, then he leans close and kisses my cheek. Just slightly, and I'm so flustered I'm unsure what to do. Then he continues walking like nothing happened. I think I'm just smiling, because I can't help but do anything else. I scoot over to my far side of the bed and throw my beanie into the other room, it's not fun to try and untangle that thing from my hair. Carl sets his hat down beside the bed and I look up at the ceiling, feeling my body begin to drift from consciousness.

_This_ is probably one of the most normal things that I've done in a long time. In terms of things that might actually happen if the world hadn't gone to shit. It's the little things that count. Definitely the little things.


	21. On Your Own

They you gotta stick together in this world, more people means more power. I think that's partially true, you do need others sometimes. It's easier to take on a horde of walkers with a pack of people rather than on your own. But there are some things that you have to do on your own. Then there's also other things, you don't have a choice, you do them on your own because you have to. The other options, aren't so sunny...

I wake up the next morning with Carl shaking my good shoulder. I was sleeping well, no nightmares, which I regard as a surprise.

He stands by the bed, hat on and Beretta strapped to his thigh. There's a canvas bag over his shoulder, "You need one more day to recoup, no going out today. Just rest, I'm gonna out on my own to finish clearing what I can. I'll be back by noon. I promise."

"Carl-" I begin to protest

"There's nothing you're going to do to stop me. We have to leave tomorrow. We can't stay here forever, and I want you to recover today so we can move tomorrow. I'll be fine, I've taken aspirin and a couple of those other meds." He insists. His eyes aren't dim, they're sharp, stubborn even. But there's something else, something hidden in those eyes and his tone that I can't quite place.

"Take my gun at least. Yours only holds 6 bullets. Just in case, ya know..." I trail off, I swallow hard. I can't bring myself to say what I think. I don't like it. Him going out alone. But he has fair points, I do need to recuperate, and we can't stay here forever. My chest feels heavy, and I can't help but think how horribly wrong things could go.

"Ok, but be a good girl while I'm gone, alright?" he teases, poking my stomach. I curl up a little with the jerk reaction. I just glare at him for a moment, and then he gives my hand a final squeeze before he turns and goes.

I decide to get up and eat, because food will help me recover. I walk slow this morning, my body still heavy with sleep. I hope Carl has cleared the house, because my stumbling probably sounds like a walker's. I sit down next to our pile of supplies and I open up a can of peas, constructing a spoon out of the lid. The peas go down slowly, though I haven't got much anything to watch like I normally would. I drink from one of the water bottles that we've been working on for a while. I just study the room for maybe the hundredth time, it's strange how it fascinated I am with this place.

My eyes are already heavy, which I think is stupid, because I haven't been awake but half an hour or so. Little light streams through the window today, clouds make the sky gray and depressing. Even with the clouds I can tell it is early morning still. I used to always be up by this time, but now.

_Stop Sam, you can't be angry at yourself like this. It's literally pointless. One day away from the action won't kill you._

I don't know what compels me to do it, but I get up again and I wander the upstairs until I find a room with a bed and there's a book on the nightstand. I sit down on the bed, resting the water bottle on the nightstand and I pick up the book. _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. Hm, can't say I've read this one since it all went down. I lean back on the bed, stretching my legs out, my head presses up against the head rest. I open the book and begin to read, it's good but my eyelids are only getting heavier. My blinks get longer and longer until they don't open again and I'm lost to sleep.

I wake up when I hear something very wrong, voices. As in not one, but multiple. And none of them sound like Carl, none of them sound like any I know.

_Shit. _

As quickly and quietly as I can, I sneak-run back to the room where Carl and I have been staying, I shove all the things into the pack that lies next to it. I throw my jacket on so there's room in the bag. I grab my Docs, I'll have time to lace them later. My beanie lies a couple feet in front of me, I ram it into my back pocket. Once last look, I run the checklist in my mind at a thousand miles an hour. _Meds, check. Food, check. Clothes, check. Books, I remember sliding those in with the meds. Yes, that should be everything._ I make it back to the hallway, and I'm nearly to the room I fell asleep in. I left that damned water bottle there. I slide in socked feet into the room and grab the bottle. Then I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. _Son of a bitch._ I instinctively drop down and slide-crawl under the bed. The action makes my shoulder scream and I bite my lip hard so I don't make any noises.

The footsteps arrive at the top of the stairs accompanied by a pair of boots. I can see them from here. My heart beats furiously in my throat. The boots walk down the hallway, checking out the other rooms first. I stay stark still, I wrap my arms around the pack in front of me, direly hoping not to be spotted. I wiggle backwards so my socked feet touch the wall. My boots sit right of me and the water bottle at my left. I press my mouth against the pack, trying to relieve the pressure building internally.

The boots are back. They seem to walk towards the room in slow motion. I ceased to breathe entirely, my eyes are wide, and my lip is bleeding, yet I still bite down. Oh dear God, I could stretch my arm out right now and touch the boots if I wanted. I have to close my eyes and pray in my mind. I see the long barrel of the gun that Boots must be holding. Horrifying thoughts come to mind, and I am trembling uncontrollably all over now.

Boots walks around the bed, seeming as though he wants to torture me, scare me into coming out. _He doesn't know you're here_, I tell myself, _he doesn't know you're here_. Boots walks a couple steps away, kicking back an article of clothing and opens the closet door. Thank God I didn't hide in there.

Next he walks over to a dresser at my left, I dare not turn my head, in fear that'll he'll hear the sound of my head moving against the fabric of the bag. I look out of the corners of my eyes, and my chest is heaving now, begging for air. But I can't, I'm too scared. Then I let out a faint gasp, my body giving out to its own demands. I wince heavily, and Boots start to walk towards me. He stands at the very foot of the bed, I can see the blood spattered on his shoe. _Stop breathing._ I demand myself. _You cannot breathe. This will not end well. _

I am shaking violently now, tremors controlling my arms and legs. Boots walks to the side of the bed and pauses for a moment. _I am dead. I am dead. I am __**so**__ dead_. And then he throws himself on the bed. The mattress caves, and it slams into my shoulder. I physically bite the pack now, tears forming in my eyes. _Don't, just don't._ I squint my eyes shut, trying not to think of everything at once.

Time ticks by and I start to breathe again, but it's unsteady and flutters against the bag. After an unmeasurable amount of time, it could be minutes, it could be days, I hear snoring. And my muscles slacken some. My breath becomes more even and less shaky.

_I have to get out of here_. My luck won't last forever. I grab one boot and turn down towards my foot. I'm careful not to arch my back so I don't hit the bottom of the mattress. I stretch my foot towards my hand and get my foot in the boot. I bend my knee in towards my chest and tie the laces. Alright, one down. Now the hard part. Using my left arm to get the other boot on. I bite hard on my tongue. I grab my left boot and stretch my foot up towards my leg, my arm reaches down and my shoulder screams in protest. My breathing becomes labored. I'm trembling again, terrified I'm making too much noise. Finally, I manage to hook my foot into the boot and lace it up with fumbling fingers. I start to scoot out from under the bed, comforted by the constant snores. Then I freeze. Footsteps on the stairs.

_Shit._

I quickly slide back to my original position, squeezing my bag tightly. The person making the footsteps emerge at the top of the stairs. "Hey, find any sign of him?" They ask presumably to Boots, walking towards me and I'm paralyzed again.

_Him_? I'm intrigued at this mysterious _him._ _Could it be one of our people? Could it be Carl? Goddammit, why did I let him go out on his own._

Boots doesn't reply, so the other guy speaks up, "Yo! Comfy?"

The snoring stops and Boots stirs, "You're waking me up to see if I'm comfy?" He growls. My back tenses nervously

"Maybe I wanna lay down," the other guy threatens.

"There's 2 other beds," Boots snaps

"Them's kids beds," the other guy explains, "I want this one." this he walks over to the side of the bed. I feel Boots sit up.

"It's claimed," I can practically hear the scowl in Boots' expression. _Ladies, ladies, you're both pretty, now let's hear about this __**him**__, eh?_

"I didn't hear it," the other guy retorts, "you're gonna have to lay claim somewhere else."

Boots stands up and the bed creaks into its original position. There's some shuffling and then they're fighting. There's lots of grunts and sounds of fists hitting flesh fills the air. Next thing I know one of them goes to the ground. I think it's Boots. He has dark skin and a black bandanna around his closely shaved head. There's a sickening thump when Boots tries to get up, but the other guy forces him down. A hand clamps around Boot's throat and all I can do is watch. Boots struggles, reaching his hands up at the other guy, but the other guy punches him in the face so that Boots' head is turned towards me. His eyes widen when they see me. My eyes widen at the sight of him, hoping that he can't and won't talk. The other guy wraps his arm around Boots' neck in a choke hold and I watch Boots' eyes turn almost desperate as they stare into mine.

I watch the light in his eyes fade, until they close and Boots stop his struggling. I swallow hard.

"My bed now, jack-off," the other guy snorts and he jumps onto the bed. The frames bends and pushes against my back. I wince and bite my tongue some more. Blood poisons my mouth, filling it with the bitter taste of salt and iron.

The other guy kicks one foot over the side of the bed and lets out a sigh. He's unconscious in 5 minutes flat._ Ok, time for Round 2 of Mission Escapé._ There's still talking going on downstairs and I vaguely hear the sound of footsteps but I cannot discern their location. Slowly, one inch at a time, I slide over towards the edge of the bed. My head pokes out from under the bed when his snoring stammers for a moment and I freeze, it picks up again a second later and I exhale with relief. I wiggle a little more, pull my bag and the water bottle out and I stand. I look at the other guy on the bed, he's out cold. He's got thick stubble covering his pale face and dark hair.

"Tony, Len, get your asses down here." A voice calls from downstairs. Well, shit. I quickly creep out of the room and down the hall. _Ok, obviously the stairs are not an option, so how am I gonna get outta here? _There's a man on the staircase, his back is to me. His steps are slow and make my chest heavy with dread.

"Yo, you hear me?" the voice calls again. I now know the voice belongs to the man on the stairs.

My eyes dart to the left and I sneak into the room Carl and I were staying in. I press my back against the wall of the little room that had the bed.

I hug the bag to my chest. _Breathe Sam, breathe_. He's in the room now, I stare fearfully straight ahead at the wall in front of me. It's inches from my nose. Just praying he doesn't look in here. I can hear him picking through things. He walks to the doorway, I'm staring at his hand now. He holds a tennis ball. Don't step any further, don't step any further. I make myself as flat against the wall as possible. He throws the tennis ball against the wall with the window. It bounces back, and he catches the ball. He does this a couple more times before losing interest. I hear him bounce the ball against the wooden floor as his footsteps get quieter. I can breathe again.

I rest my forehead against the wall for a moment before throwing the pack onto my back. I peek out the doorway, he's gone. I take off the pack and stuff the water bottle in there before zipping it back up and slinging onto my good shoulder. I free my knife from its holder and clench it firmly in my hands. I nervously moisten my dry lips and short, nervous breaths push from them.

I try to open the windows in the little room, but they don't open. _Goddammit_.

"Claim, claim, claim!" shouts the man that was in here a few minutes ago. He must have found his friend with Boots dead on the floor, "Shut the hell up."

I go into the main room, keeping a constant eye out for people moving in the hallways.

"I'm trying to sleep!" the other guy complains.

Another voice calls as I push myself against the wall that is next to the main doorway, "There's a woman shacking up in here!"

"Say what?" the other guy calls

"Come on down!" the first one shouts

"She hot?" the other guy asks

_Oh dear God, what have they found? What did I leave. Please don't tell me I did something stupid and left my bra in the bathroom or something of equivalent idiocy. _

"Don't grab your pecker yet, she ain't here. It's just a shirt. But she may be with him." there's that _him_ again. _Who's the __**him**__?! I need to know._

"What are the odds?" the man with the tennis ball yells, he and the other guy head down the stairs, oblivious to my presence, "It could be any old woman, may be on her own."

"Any old woman would do," the other guy comments. My gut churns, these men are terrible. If found, I'd suffer a fate worse than death.

"There's more than one person that was here with her though, it's the best lead we've had in a bit." the one who found the shirt says.

I have to leave. Now.

I sneak out of the room on light feet, I look into the room where the other guy and the man with the tennis ball left, Boots still lies on the floor. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"She'll be back," the shirt finder tells them, "And I'll place bets she's with him. Bring him right to us, get the job done nice and quick. Make him pay for killin' our own."

Ok, so _him_ is_ not_ Carl. They would've already had found him and done who knows what...

"Hold on," calls the other guy, "let me get my gun." he runs up the stairs and I run into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I turn around, there's a man on the toilet. His eyes grow wide with shock at the sight of me. On instinct, I jab the butt of my knife into his gut. This pushes him back and he launches himself at me.

He pushes me into the bathroom counter and I struggle for a pair of scissors on the counter. I thrust my elbow back and grab the scissors while he's hunched over. I open the scissors and pull against his throat. He pushes backwards and we smack against the bathroom wall. He thrashes around and grabs his hands at me. I pull harder._ I won't kill him, I won't kill him. I can't kill him. Just get 'em unconscious_.

Then he reaches up, grabbing my chest and squeezes.

Now all bets are off. I yank harder and gurgling noises erupt from his mouth. He's choking, I pull tighter, he's still struggling, but the available oxygen to his body is shrinking, so his fight is more manageable. His face turns purple and soon the struggling stops and his dead body collapses to the floor.

I am a killer. _This is what I get when I work on my own._

I grab the gun that he foolishly left next to the toilet. I look at the corpse one more time. He's gonna come back. A voice in the back of my head warns me. _Good, maybe he'll take out a couple more of these sickos_.

I sling the gun over my shoulder and it bounces against the pack when I walk. The window here slides up with ease, and I'm thankful, my body is still trembling from my last kill. I'm not sure if I could take them all out even if they didn't attack me first.

There's an overhang out the window and I toss the pack and the gun out, then I crawl through and I re-situate my things on my back. I crouch walk with soft feet across the roof the ledge. I lay down and work my body slowly over the edge until I'm only clinging with my fingertips. My shoulder screams and tears start to form in my eyes, I drop down with a loud thump. I get to my feet and press my back against the wood side paneling, I squat down and swing the gun off my back. Waiting in suspense. Nothing.

I'm on the back porch now. I creep down the deck stairs and around the side of the house, pausing and aiming at any noise my ears pick up. The side door opens, I pause, pressing my back up against the brick of the side deck. I clench my teeth as I hear the sound of a tennis ball bouncing. I stretch up, just peeking enough to see the deck itself. Footsteps move towards me. I duck back down. The air in my throat goes dead. I hold the gun up, ready to shoot if necessary. Tennis ball bouncer bends over the other side of the railing and spits, about 5 feet in front of me. My the luck I'm having today.

The man sits on the railing and kicks one foot up, he has a can of something and drinks from it. I don't believe it's one of ours though, so that makes me a little less stressed. He whistles at some birds, and I hear him take another bite of whatever is in the can.

I look past the brick and in the distance I see him. Carl. He's walking here unsuspectingly, I have to hope this guy doesn't see him too.

I can't let him see Carl. _He's mine._

I stretch my hand up, I'm gonna have to shoot him. _It's the only way_. I start to stand and there's a ruckus in the house. I guess my first kill has come back already. Shots go off. The man stands and goes inside. _Thank goodness_, I let out a sigh of relief.

I first crouch-run from the house and then I screw it and full blown run for Carl as fast as I can, ignoring the searing agony in my shoulder.

"Go!" I hiss at him once he's close enough to me. His eyes are wide and he doesn't question it as we run off in the opposite direction.

We stop running once we're a mile from the neighborhood.

"What the hell was that?" Carl pants, we can only stop for a moment.

"Men," I explain through shallow breaths, "I was asleep and they came into the house."

Carl's eyes widen and new concern fills his expression, his hand rests carefully on my arm, "Did they-"

"I'm fine," I tell him, _I killed the one guy that tried._

"How'd you get out of there? I mean certainly one must have seen you." Carl gawks at me in disbelief. I nod reluctantly. I open my mouth to say something and then shut it. I swallow, I can't tell him. _He can't know that I'm a murderer._ What would he think? _He is too._ I remind myself. _No, no. I just can't._

"Sam," he looks at me dead in the eyes, his hands find mine and he interlaces his fingers with my own, "you don't have to handle this on your own."


	22. Coming Clean

You just have to come clean sometimes. There's no other way. You can't sugar coat it. It just has to come out. Only after can you clean up the mess you've made.

"I killed him," I blurt out, I can't hold it back any longer. My heart plummets and I stare hopelessly at Carl.

"Him?" Carl inclines his head towards me.

"There was a guy." I stammer, stepping back slightly, my hands slip out of Carl's, "In the house, he... he saw me... and then shit went down, I had to kill him Carl. There wasn't another way." I'm choking on my own air now. "I had to." _What have I done? What. Have. I. Done_.

Carl looks at me for a long time._ I didn't hate you!_ I scream silently at him,_ I could've rejected you and hated you for killing, but I didn't! I accepted it. It was a part of you, it couldn't be changed. Please don't hate me. Please don't._ "I get it." he nods, "You did what you had to do to survive. We all do at some point. Did... did he deserve it?"

"Yeah," it comes out as a growl, not intentionally, and Carl gives me a look of surprise, I shake my head, "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have to." my tone is fragile now, exposing the fear within me.

"I know. You aren't a killer Sam. You're a survivor, there's a difference." Carl's eyes stare deeply into mine, and he steps towards me and grabs my hand again, "Now we gotta go. In case those guys try to come after us. And we'll have to find cover soon." he looks to the sky, and it's blackening with storm clouds, heavy with rain that's soon to spill.

So we walk, hand in hand. Carl offers to take the pack from my back, I'm starting to feel weak again, and my shoulder throbs painfully. I set my jaw and look at him. I press the back of my hand against his forehead, he's normal. I reluctantly agree. He stops for a moment to empty the contents of his bag into the one with the rest of our stuff. He slings it over one shoulder and we continue on.

We make it out to a road after a few hours. It's lined with heavy rows of trees that tower above us on both sides. Rain starts at a slow, warm pitter patter that hits the top of my head in fat, slow drops. Then it picks up. I grab my beanie from my back pocket and slide it onto my head. It picks up by the minute until I'm soaked all the way through. I begin to shiver when a northern breeze blows through. Carl's expression is tight as he casts me worried glances.

We walk on for a few hours more, with nowhere better to be, I am literally soaked to the bone with rain. Then I see it, there's a dirt road that diverges from the main road up ahead, Carl nods towards it and we begin to jog that way. Once we're on the dirt road, most of the rain doesn't get through the trees and its constant rhythm beats against the leaves above instead.

The dirt road goes for a while and the sky is getting dimmer quickly. Finally we see a fenced area. Beyond the fencing is a clearing, the rain pours freely there. Its fencing is just standard chain link, but we see a small building past it. That'll do. That'll do just fine. I'm starting to get sluggish, exhaustion and pain overcoming my senses and blurring my mind. I need to sit down, I'm gonna drop if we go much longer.

"Looks like an ok place to try for," Carl comments

I release a tired sigh, "Why the hell not?"

The closer we walk, the more we realize that there's more to this place. In the distance, there are large blobs; the rain streams down too quickly and densely that I can't make out what they are past that. We arrive at the fence and we don't see a single walker.

"We could climb it?" I suggest meekly. It's not too tall; neither of us are very heavy, it shouldn't be an issue.

"Can you?" Carl looks at my shoulder.

"I'll be fine," I insist.

He gives me a tired look and grits his teeth, "Sam."

"I'll be fine," I repeat. Carl shakes his head, caving. He's starts to climb, his fingers grasp the chain link and he pushes himself off the ground and climbs. I notice he's found another shoe to replace the one the walker stole. He gets to the top and slings his legs over to the other side. Then he lets go and jumps to the ground. He lands on his feet and he nods at me to climb.

I grit my teeth and try to mainly use my feet and right arm to climb. It's not too hard, but my foot slips once and I instinctively grab tighter with my left arm, and I cringe as my shoulder pulses with fresh pain.

"You ok?" Carl asks with genuine concern.

I nod, "Yup," I mumble under my breath, "just great."

I haul myself over the other side of the fence and drop. I land on my feet with bent knees next to Carl. I stand up and I can tell he's not convinced of my ok-ness.

"Do you need-"

"I'm fine," I interrupt him, my voice is harsh and brittle even though I know he's only being nice, "You've done enough, really you have." I try to use a more soothing tone. _He can't know how bad I am. He just can't._

We walk to the small building. It's made of worn brown brick with a flat metal roof. It only stands about eight feet tall and doesn't take up too much square footage. The rain pounds against our soaked bodies and Carl starts to run for the building and I follow him. I look around warily, walkers could be anywhere. But they aren't here, and it's strange. Which makes me raise my guard even more.

The door to the building has a rusted padlock on it. It's not even really locked, it's sealed by the rust formed around the ends. "Shit," Carl mutters under his breath. He slams the butt of the semi-automatic into the padlock. I lean against the side of the building, my legs are shaky and my breathing is labored. He smashes into again and again until the padlock falls open. _Bingo._

Carl works the padlock off and throws it to the ground. He quickly yanks the door open with a pointed gun. He surveys the area, and when he sees no walkers, he nods at me to come in. I hold my gun up, prepared to shoot anything I don't like. The floor is cheap linoleum and has a faded pattern that looks like it was white and white checkered squares at one point, but now bleeds together from time. The building is one square room, with a little door one 3 of the sides of the room, leading off to other smaller rooms. One little door leading to what appears to be a closet area. There's 2 windows on the northern wall, the one wall without a door, that are covered in dust and dirt, preventing any real view of the outside world. It also prevents much of the natural lighting that would be otherwise let in. I have to squint to see more than just an outline of Carl. I shut the door behind me, and Carl's already headed to the smaller room so I just stand guard, feeling too weak to do anything else. He left the bag on the floor, probably to keep it out of his way. I keep a constant eye on the other two doors, one is open, one isn't. Ever since the pudding house, I've been cautious with closed doors.

Carl kicks the small door open and steps back. Nothing comes out, he peeks his head into the room and I hold my breath, "Clear!" he calls and I walk towards him.

"Find anything?" I ask, I have to speak up because rain pounds loudly against the roof.

"Yeah, a bunch of stuff actually. Lots of canned goods. There's also a generator, and a water pipe. Maybe there's running water," he says the last part with a yearning tone, running water was a luxury back at the prison, and I find myself with the same sense of longing pulling at my gut.

I shrug at the possibility, "There are two other doors."

"Did you wanna check one out?" he testing me, to see if I'm too weak to pull my own weight.

"Yeah, I guess I just wanted to see what was here first," I lie. I walk over to the closed door, gun at the ready. I turn the knob and push it open warily. My muscles are rigid, prepared to kill anything that dare attack me.

Nothing. All that work up for nothing.

I confirm that there really is nothing and there isn't some weakened walker hiding behind some obscure object ready to eat my face, and then I clear the room of its goods. It's a small room; the space between the walls is small, maybe 7 feet. The room is long though, as long as the entire building. Pushed in the very back is a bed. One wall has two or three filing cabinets, and there's a pile of books shoved against the other wall. There's papers scattered and piled on the floor everywhere. If I look past the door, there's a desk, with more papers and an old desk chair.

There's something very wrong with this place though. I can't see it, I just sense it. There's a thick layer of dust that covers everything, from the books, to the bed, to the floor, to the walls. I don't think this place has been touched since before the apocalypse began. That must be why there isn't a walker locked up in here.

"Hey Sam!" Carl calls from outside the room, I walk out and don't see him in the main room, instead I see him leaning out of the third room, waving at me, "You should see this."

I follow him into the room. It's a bathroom, with multiple showers, separated by a curtain. Carl opens up a set of cabinets that are below a sink.

"Jackpot," Carl mutters under his breath.

"What's down there?" I step forward, intrigued.

"I wonder what this place was, there's enough medical supplies here to care for several people. And the food storage, and the generator. What was in the other room?"

"It was almost like an office, but there was a bed in the corner. Books, and paper, but nothing of much use beyond that." I shrug with one shoulder. I'm trembling all over, from the rain and my shoulder is throbbing horribly.

"You look terrible," Carl grits his teeth and his bright blue eyes look over me, "you need to change and lie down. You'll catch a cold staying in those clothes like that," Carl explains, then he gives the first cough I've heard all day.

"You will too." I insist.

"You first," he pushes. I let out a sigh, "Have you checked to see if the showers work?" I ask, hey if there's a shot, might as well take it.

"No," he shakes his head, "Maybe tomorrow, but I think that rain really cleaned us both up for today," he chuckles. He slings his gun over his shoulder, and takes my hand. Carl picks up the bag and we go into the office. We go to the back of the room, where the bed is, and I work off the jacket that is less blood soaked now, but is clammy with all the absorbed water.

"Let's see it then," Carl nods to my shoulder. I take off my flannel shirt and work my arm out of the t-shirt. There's blood staining the outer most bandages. I've opened the damn thing again.

"This is because of-" he starts off, but the words catch in his throat.

"When I fought the guy, yeah," I swallow uneasily.

"Right," he unwraps the bandages. And lets out a bit of a relieved sigh. There's blood, but the wound isn't leaking puss and swollen today. He quickly cleans it up and then cleans it up with alcohol again.

"You aren't out of the woods yet," he comments, "the infection can and will come back. It'd probably look better if we didn't have that _issue _this morning." for some reason his comment irks me the wrong way, like this is my fault. I bite my tongue, fighting off a snappy comeback. _Just relax, Sam. He didn't mean it like that_.

"I'm not gonna get like... blood poisoning or anything like that, right?" my voice cracks a little. That stuff is bad, and we're just two kids on our own. If something like that were to happen, my odds... well they wouldn't be good.

Carl swallows, "You're going to be fine. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." his voice is firm with meaning and I just kind of nod. He gives me some medicine to take and then wraps up my shoulder with clean bandaging.

"If I'm gonna change, you're gonna have to leave," I tell him, pointing to the door. He rolls his eyes but obeys. He closes the door behind him and I pick out a shirt that's mostly dry from the center of the pack. I haven't seen this one yet, Carl must've found it while he was out. It's a boys shirt, even bigger than the last one. I remove the old t-shirt, slide the new one over my head, cautious of my shoulder. Then I kick off my boots, peel off my socks, and pull off my waterlogged jeans. Better. I remove my poor beanie, and squeeze out the excess water. I braid back my dripping hair that's now an ugly dark brown. I set out all my clothes out to dry and then walk over to the door, I open it, and find Carl sitting on the floor of the main room, chowing down on a can of beans.

"You gonna share that?" I ask, I walk over next to him and sit down, no worries. This freaking shirt dwarfs me, there is nothing to see here. Nope.

Carl reaches next to him and hands me a can of corn, "Eat up," he tells me through a mouthful of navy beans.

"Aren't you delightful," I snort, rolling my eyes. I crack open the can with my knife that's still in its holder around my waist, because you just never know when a knife will come in handy. I use the lid as a spoon and I watch Carl hungrily put down the beans. Water is dripping off the brim of his sheriff hat, and his shirt is plastered against his skin, "Shouldn't you change?" I suggest lightly.

He half-glares at me as he puts down another bite, "Later," he mumbles. I give him a tired expression, I sit up on my knees and remove the sheriff hat from his head, and his hair is clumped together with moisture. I ruffle his hair with my hand and smirk at its displacement, it covers Carl's eyes and I can tell he's displeased, but a smirk peaks through.

"Fine grumpy, get sick again." the words that come out of my mouth are a mistake and I want to take them back as soon as I say them._ I didn't mean that, I swear! _Sometimes I really ought to watch my mouth.

He swallows and puts the can down, it's empty now, "If it means that much to you, I'll be back." he sighs. He's tired too, even if he won't admit it. I stare at the dirty windows and by the time I finish my corn, Carl's back in a fresh Henley and black jeans, "Better?" he asks, gesturing at his new attire.

"Much," I stand up, I give him a playful smirk and pat him on the shoulder, "Now come on, we have a story to finish if the book isn't completely ruined." I take his hand and we go into the office. I fish through the bag until I find Peter Pan in better than expected condition. I sit on the bed and lean against the wall. There's a dusty blanket and a couple pillows on the bed. I kick the blanket up with my feet and pull it onto my legs. I open up the book and the words on the pages are slightly blurred, but still legible. Carl lays down on the bed next to me and rests his head against my hip. He hands me a flashlight, because the little light left is fading.

I read the story until it's done and then I click off the flashlight. No need to waste battery. I slide down and lie next him. We just sit there in the darkness for a while. And then a question weighing on my mind spills out.

"Do you ever, feel regret for killing or... or anything really." I stutter and my words come out uneven and scared.

"Yeah, all the time. Not a day goes by I don't think about it and the effect it had on my life." Carl admits.

Things are just spilling out now, and I feel the need to let them out, "Do you remember back at the prison when you asked if I had anything else to tell you?"

"And you said no?" he turns his head towards me, and I turn towards him. His proximity makes my insides turn nervously. We're nearly nose to nose now.

"Well, I did... I do..." I trail off, my voice catching. Can I do this? Can I throw myself out there like this?

"I assumed by the way you brought it back up," I can tell he's joking, but at the same time uses serious elements.

"I saw Patrick, that night. He came to me, said he was sorry about my dad." I start to ramble, and I can't stop. "I told him he looked awful, because he did. I didn't know it was that bad though, I... I swear. I could've stopped it. I should've told someone. If I had, Patrick might still be alive, all those others. They might've lived. If I wasn't so selfish..." I sit up and move away from Carl. I can't stand his closeness now, it makes me feel wrong and vile. I wrap my arms around my knees which are pulled tightly to my chest. I've done it. I've come clean. Now what will I have to repair now that I've let it all out?


	23. Seeing is Believing

The saying is so old I bet it's in some hieroglyphic, Neanderthal cave drawing somewhere. Seeing is believing. You see it, you believe it. Because you can twist words left and right, but you can't twist what you see. It's the facts. Your eyes do not betray you. It's like if someone says there's a walker behind you, you don't believe until you turn around and see that it's lunging to munch on some fresh meat.

"Please don't hate me," the words are so quiet and broken they can't possibly be mine. It's been silent for about five minutes now, but it feels like an eternity.

Carl shakes his head, like he was in a trance and he's just come out of it.

He's just quiet.

I turn away from him and lie down. I've done it, dashed any hopes of us maintaining a positive relationship.

"I don't hate you." He finally speaks and it's like he really doesn't know what to say. _What can he say?_

More silence, I don't turn around, his words are probably empty.

"Sam," Carl clears his throat, but not in the coughing way, "you shouldn't feel blame for that. It... it wasn't your fault. If you hadn't been there, he'd have died anyway. Your presence didn't affect that. By the time you saw him... he was... he was too far gone."

"He was sick!" I protest, "You were too! Yet here you are, alive and well. You don't look like death. That's what he looked like. When I saw him, he was a dead man walking, Carl. I saw it. It was real. Don't you think I could've done something? Anything?" I'm sitting now, but I'm violently trembling. Carl is sitting up too. And his hand rests gently on my upper arm.

"Don't do this Sam," he shakes his head, "It's done, ok? He's gone- Patrick is gone. They're all gone. Even if you had prevented it, it wouldn't have mattered. Those people, if they hadn't been eaten by walkers, they'd have been slaughtered by the Governor in the attack. They'd still be dead, like everyone else. No matter what you had done then, I can almost guarantee we'd be here feeling the same now. So don't feel bad. There's no point, it's energy wasted. We have to focus on more important stuff. Like you getting better." he pauses and his eyes are sharp and determined, his stubbornness coming out. "The more you stress that shoulder, the longer it's gonna take to heal. These things, they don't just heal up in a few days ya know." he probably knows that first hand. I think about that scar on his chest. I've heard stories, but I've never heard straight from the horse's mouth.

"How did it happen? Your gunshot scar, I mean." I'm feeling more comfortable now. Like some of the anxiety is relieved, his words make sense and thus I don't feel so much pressure holding me down. _He doesn't hate me, he won't hate me. It's all ok_. With my new sense of reassurance, and maybe even confidence, I poke him approximately where I remember the scar to be. He gives me a 'did you really just do that' look with a smirk. and he pokes me in the diaphragm. I bend in the middle, jerk reactions taking over. _Stop, I'm ticklish! _I bat his hand away.

"But seriously though," I can feel my eyelids drooping, the long fought exhaustion is finally winning. I wanna know though. _Fight it Sam, just a little longer_. So I do.

He looks at me and then he bites the inside of his lip, "You've seen it, right? You good on visuals?" he asks

_I could always use a visual. Visuals are good,_ "Yeah, I'm fine." I nod.

He nods back, he takes a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for this story, "Well it was a couple years ago. My group was just out on the road then, and we were attacked by a herd of walkers. We were just kids then."

"We?" I echo, turning my head at Carl.

Carl chokes up, "I didn't start out as the only kid. There... There was another... A girl... Sophia. We were hiding under a car. She moved too early. She had to run. My dad went after her. Tried to keep her hid while he drew off the walkers." Tears are forming in his eyes and he wipes them away with his fingers and he chokes down the beginnings of a sob as he continues, "When he came back, she was gone. And we searched, hell we all searched. That's when it happened. I was out with my dad, and his friend, Shane. We spotted this deer. God, Sam, it was probably one of the prettiest things I'd ever seen. The prettiest at that point in my life. And I was fooled, I thought there was still innocence and peace in this world. I walked towards that deer. I looked at it, and it saw me. It didn't move, it just stood there, and so did I. And... and then it happened. One moment I felt nothing but joy and beauty, then I could only feel pain and blackness. I woke up a couple days later. Hershel- he saved my life." his voice catches, "That's where we met them, Hershel, Maggie, Beth. There were others too, but they're gone now. The man who shot me, who technically shot the deer, he lived there, on the farm. Hershel's farm."

_Jeez, this kid's been through a lot_. What I've had, it's just nothing. Nothing against that. I reach over and I give Carl a hug, "Thanks," I really don't know what I'm thanking him for. There are so many things that are thank-worthy. It needed to be said.

"Well," Carl clears his throat, "I think that's enough stories for tonight." I let go, and his eyes are sad. He misses her, whoever Sophia was, I wonder if this is the first time he's ever told anyone about her. It's definitely a sensitive subject. I start to scoot away, giving Carl his space, when his hand rests on my forearm. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't have to. I'm staying right here. I lie down and he lies beside me and I rest my head against his shoulder, his arms find their way around me. My heart races, but I'm too tired to give the heartbeat meaning. I shut my eyes, and Carl's breath flutters in my ear and I'm asleep in a few moments.

That night, I dream about the day I arrived in Woodbury with my family. We were whole then, and I felt happy. I had just turned 14, if I remember right. Then again, time was a difficult concept without a calendar to help keep track. It starts off just like my memory. It's daytime, and there are children, younger than Noah, who was nearly 13, a lot younger. They were the first I'd seen that young since the whole thing started. They ran around and I was excited, they looked well fed. People ate here, it wasn't the constant day to day struggle. But that wasn't right, I didn't feel that way. At least, not in real life. The children disgusted me, they were wasting energy. They shouldn't be running from each other, you only run from walkers. The kids there. They didn't know how ugly the world was. I saw it, the adults hid it from them.

That's when the dream started to divert from the path of my memory. Noah ran, to play with the other kids, only he looked a lot younger. Like the few minutes we'd been here had unraveled his age. Suddenly he was seven or eight. He's fitting right in with the other kids. Noah shouldn't run though, he really couldn't. His asthma was so bad. I yell at Noah, to come back. But when turns around, he's not my brother anymore. He's a walker. Blood drips from his mouth and he stumbles hungrily for me. Then the Governor appears, he comes with a semi-automatic. And I scream at him. _Don't shoot, not Noah, not Noah_. But he guns him down. And I scream some more, but now it's the crying kind of screaming. Then the Governor, with the crazy look in his eye, turns around and guns down my mother, who stands a few feet away from me. I reach out for her, and she screams, falling to the ground. But the Governor didn't get her brain. And she turns almost instantly, her eyes twitch open and she rises. She dives for me, and I duck out of the way. I can't do it, I can't put down my own mother. The Governor takes care of that though. He guns her for the second time, and now he's slinging bullets everywhere. Gunning everyone down, my dad goes down. Then the screaming children. I fall to my knees, not believing the sight I see. I'm trembling and tears stream down my cheeks. He's evil, he's vile, he's the devil himself. I look up at the Governor, only to find the barrel of the gun pointed at me, and then the last thing I see is the crazed one eye as my world fades to pain and blackness.

I wake up shaking violently, I'm clammy with a cold sweat, and I sit up, even though I shouldn't disturb Carl. His arms are still around me. I pull my knees up to my chest and I have my head in my hands, trying to breathe. My shoulder pounds in synchronization with my head.

There's a groan behind me and a deep, sleepy voice mutters, "Sam?"

"It's nothing," I shake my head, I move my hands from my head, I can't let him see, "Just go back to sleep." if he saw the insanity that flows through my blood and body. He'd see, and then he'd know. Because seeing is believing. 

* * *

Author's Note:

I haven't done one of these since chapter one, but here it goes...

First of all, thank you for all the reviews so far! Y'all are awesome. I love them, they motivate me to write more frequently and that means sooner updates ;) So if you like what you see, tell me! Constructive reviews with actual advice and certain things you liked about the chapter to help further progress me as an author are especially helpful and give me the motivation of two regular reviews.

Now, a lot of y'all have been reviewing and commenting, and asking, and PMing me, about Carl and Sam kissing. And all I have to say is good things come to those wait ;D  
It will happen... eventually. But the way I see it, both characters are rather shy people and I don't want to rush their relationship in the slightest.

Don't be afraid to voice your opinion on any of my decisions, especially if you think a character was acting OOC.

Thank you all again and don't forget to review!


	24. Time

We lost many treasured things when the outbreak began. Government, airplanes, fast food, refrigeration, and time. We didn't have time for time. Which I find rather ironic now. And as a result, we lost track of it. There was no more October 30th at 10:17 in the morning. It was always right now, with a rough estimate of which season. But sometimes, that was ok.

I lie back down at some point and pass out shortly after. I wake up to the constant pound of rain on the metal roof. I look over and find Carl sitting in an office chair a couple feet away from the bed. He's sitting on it so that his chin rests against the back of the chair and his legs stick out on either side of the chair. He's got something in his hand.

My voice is gravelly from sleep, and I croak out, "What's that?"

He blinks up at me in surprise, just noticing that I'm awake, I prop myself up on my elbows, he shows me the item in hand, "It's a watch, it still works too. Found it just ticking away." Now I get why he was staring. Time was something of a lost concept. Almost magical when you got to see it up close and real.

"It works?" I clear my throat, still in disbelief.

"Yeah," Carl chuckles, he scoots the chair closer to me and I sit up.

I look at the watch in hand and I hesitantly move my hand towards it, "Can-can I hold it?"

Carl nods and hands me the watch delicately, like he was scared to break it. I take it with just as much care. It's a fairly old watch with a black leather wristband and a gold case. The dial was that mother of pearl kind of iridescent and the minute and hour hands were thin and black. Sure enough, there it was, the watch was ticking away, I could even hear the little ticking of the clock.

"Keep it," Carl said.

I looked up at him and cocked my head, "Excuse me?"

"Keep it," he repeated, "you're probably better at taking care of things than I am." I meet his eyes and they're serious. He's funny, I'm a terrible person, my ability to care for anything other books is like negative infinity.

Yes. It's a thing.

"We can share it," I tell him, "it'd be selfish to keep to myself."

He nods, satisfied.

"So what's the game plan for today, sheriff?" I swing my legs over the side of the bed. If I don't point my toes down, my legs dangle slightly.

His hand pushes my legs back towards the bed, "It's raining, there's nowhere to go."

My shoulders slump slightly, "Guess it's kind of an omen, stay put. Rest. _For the __**third**__ time_." I laugh a little trying to make a joke of it.

He rolls his eyes at my joke, "I don't believe in God or any of that stuff." He admits.

I shrug indifferently, "Doesn't matter what you believe. Things happen for a reason, it's what my mom used to say anyways." I bite my tongue, even causally mentioning her still hurts, "And I guess I'm finally gonna rest. But you are too. Just in case." His illness still lurks in my mind, I almost lost him, I can't lose him for real.

"I would, except you're a bed hogger." He teases, nudging my leg with one of his socked feet.

"Am not!" I defend, a slight laugh in my voice.

"Are too," he's smiling wide now. _Please don't let anything ruin this. Just this once, let us be happy._

I throw my legs back on the bed and I grab his arm, which spins the chair around and he gets up. I scoot over, yanking him further.

"Are you trying to start something?" He laughs. And I deadpan. _Yes, I'm totally trying to get you out of those not nearly tight enough skinny jeans. I'm __**that**__ kind of girl_.

"Yes. I'm trying to start the 'Get stubborn as hell Carl Grimes to freaking sleep' movement. Pretty catchy don't cha think?"

"Needs an acronym, make it more fluid," Carl smirks, he's sitting next to me now. He scooches closer so that our knees touch when we both sit cross-legged.

My brow knits a little, thinking about that for a moment, " S. GSAHCGTFS. Yup, that rolls off the tongue quite nicely."

Carl laughs, "I like it," he smiles lazily at me.

"So just sleep? All day? That's the plan?" He confirms

"Yup," I lay back down. Even though I just woke up, my body is screaming in agreement. If this damn shoulder's gonna heal. I have to rest.

"Alrighty then," he tips the hat over his eyes, and he lies down next to me, he moves his arm so that he's silently offering me that place in between his arm and his chest. I accept. His breathing evens out quicker than mine does, and I know he needs the rest just as much as I do. I kinda hope it does rain all day, but just as I'm beginning to drift off, the pitter patter on the roof ceases and my curiosity of what's out there, in the fence area but beyond the building, gets the better of me. I open my eyes and look at Carl, to make sure he's really out. Then I slowly sit up, trying not to move the bed too much. I keep looking over at Carl, making sure he's still unconscious. I lean up on my knees and then stretch one leg over his body, trying to reach the other side of the bed. There's a couple inches in between Carl and the edge of the bed to place my foot. One foot down, I stand up and move my other leg over Carl. The whole time I stare at the brown felt of the sheriff hat, it remains unmoving. Boy, wouldn't this be the time for him to wake up, me, without pants on, standing, yet straddling him.

Now I have both legs steadying me in that little space and I lose my balance. My leg falls back and I'm scared my foot hits the ground too hard when it does. I ease my other leg off the bed and Carl still appears asleep. I let out a sigh of relief and tiptoe out of the room, picking up my knife I set down last night. Just in case. I don't want it to be that way, but in this world, you're better off safe than sorry. I close the door behind me, and then I leave the building. I turn around the corner of the building and I'm shocked at the sight I see.

Carnival rides. Like honest to goodness carnival rides. They're all set up and everything, no walkers lurk around though. This is the carnival that will never happen. Things like carnivals became unnecessary when people started to eat don't just get have to just have fun anymore. You have to survive, everything else takes a back seat.

A thought forms in my head, it's little and it's small, but it burns brightly.

I go back inside, the thought makes me giddy, and now I don't wanna sleep. But I told myself and Carl I would, so I sneak back into the room, awkwardly crawl back over still-sleeping Carl and get comfy. The giddiness subsides enough and I find myself falling back into the deep pit of unconsciousness.

I wake up before Carl does and the sun is out now, it's starting to fall over the tree line, and I feel incredibly rested. For the first time in a while my shoulder isn't screaming with pain, and my little burning thought turns into an idea.

I get off of the bed and get dressed. I'm changing into a tank top I found shoved in one of the desk drawers when I hear an awkward cough behind me. _Shit_.

"Nice back," Carl comments, and I instantly pull the shirt all the way down. I turn around to glare at Carl and also come to the horrifying realization that I am not wearing pants. Carl snorts and I glare harder, but I'm pretty sure the message doesn't get through because my cheeks are burning tomato red.

"You were supposed to be asleep," I protest

"So were you!" he defends. He's sitting up on the bed with a smug look on his face.

"Turn around!" I snap my fingers at him, he obeys and he even covers his eyes. I quickly pull on my jeans, pull on my flannel shirt, roll up the sleeves to the elbows. I lace up my Docs, slip my beanie on. I clip the knife holster around my waist. I'm ready.

"You're good," I roll my eyes and I open the door and Carl follows me out the door. We shared a can of peach preserves.

"Why are we just getting dressed and eating now?" Carl asks

My idea has become a plan.

"There, uh, there's something I want you to see," I stammer nervously.

Carl narrows his eyes at me, "And that would be?"

I stand up and take his hand, giving a little chuckle, "Oh you'll see."

"Is there time?" he looks out the window, his brow knits together at the fading sunlight.

I look at him with a mischievous glint in my eyes, "Oh, we have plenty of time."

My plan is about to be put into action, and we have all the time in the world.


	25. Infinite

A long time ago, maybe during my early days at the prison or before, I remember reading something. This something caught my eyes and made me wonder. Would I ever feel like this? This- was feeling infinite. What is that like? To feel infinite. Everything has an end, that's brutally clear in today's world. But wouldn't it be nice, for a single moment, to feel infinite.

I walk him outside and we round the corner and he stares at me in disbelief, "We are not-"

"We are," I tell him in a sing-song tone

"You're absolutely insane," he shakes his head at me, "How do you know this'll even work?" he's laughing slightly, imagining it. A smile breaks through on my face at his new found eagerness.

I shrug, "It's worth a shot, these things ran on their own generators. If no one has been here since this thing started, then they should ready to go."

I can see it in his eyes, he wants this desperately, "But turning them on, there's noise to contend with, and these things have lights. We'll attract every walker around for miles, not to mention the possibility for any other unwanted attention." He's talking about those men now, the ones that are undoubtedly wanting our heads.

I did account for this, trust me, I did. We had to leave at some point though, right? I mean tonight's just as good as any...

"Then let's get everything ready, I'm sure there's some truck or something with a tank full. We take what we need, pack the truck, have our fun, and when we're done, or the walker count gets a little too high, we split. Plus, we have the fence on our side." This may be the stupidest thing I've ever suggested, but I don't wanna waste this opportunity.

I'm internally struggling, trying to tell myself this is ok and that we won't end up dead because of my stupidity. I can see Carl's conflicted too, he wants this as badly as I do, but he also knows that things don't always go to plan.

"Alright, but we have to make sure everything is ready to go, and we have to find a usable exit, and the moment you over exert your shoulder we're done. Ok?" Carl lays out his terms and I bite my lip, nodding. The last one agitates me, and I want to protest, but he has a point.

"Good?" He confirms, I nod, "Well then come on! And I don't do anything with heights!" He jokes.

We run back inside and begin to pack everything. We put clothes and books in one bag, and fill the other with food and medical supplies. Carl finds a duffel bag, and we fill that up too with whatever we can find. Once we've stripped the place bare, Carl stops me.

His eyes go my shoulder and I let out a displeased groan, but I put down the bag I was carrying and plop onto the ground. He hands me a dosage of pain medication that I haven't been as diligent in taking as I probably should have. I take a swig out of a water bottle and swallow the pills painlessly, I slip my arm out of my flannel shirt and tank top and Carl goes to work on my shoulder.

I sit still, but watch his face out of the corner of my eye as he works. He tips his hat up with the flat of his index finger to get a better look at the wound. His eyes are at first almost dim and nervous, the further he unwraps my wound, the more his expression reflects that of dread. He bites his thin bottom lip and his eyebrows furrow, preparing for the worst. The last of the bandaging falls away and his expression melts to relief and determination. I refuse to look at the wound, trusting him to do what he has to.

He soaks a sterile cotton pad with alcohol and rubs it gingerly on the wound. It burns, but significantly less than it has previously. I still tense up and something deeper forms in Carl's bright blue eyes, something I want to place, something that I've seen before, many a time, but I'm too scared to be wrong. _Compassion?_ I dare to think.

His touch is lighter from then on, and once everything is clean to Carl's satisfaction, he uses some of the bandages we found in the cabinet to wrap my shoulder back up. He helps me work my shirt back on. He helps me to my feet and I grab my bag and he shoulders the extra two, much to my dismay. We check the building over one last time, and I grab a set of keys that are hanging by the door.

We're quick to find the vehicle the keys belong to and are eager to find it not only has a tank with at least 2 gallons of gas, but works! It's parked beside a closed gate that is on the opposite side of where we first found the place. Getaway is already set up. _Awesome_. We make sure the gate moves quickly enough, and when it does, we load down the truck.

"I just found the flaw in your plan," Carl looks over at me as we pack the pickup truck. It's a Chevy Silverado if I'm not mistaken. It's a two door, and I feel pretty badass, in a southern kind of way, slamming the doors shut.

"What?" I ask

"Have you ever driven before?" he looks at me cautiously. He walks over to my side of the truck and he lifts a concerned eyebrow as he crosses his arms.

_Oh. That._

"Nah, can't be that hard though, right?" I shrug indifferently. _Psh, I got this_.

_No you don't._

"'Cause I sure as hell haven't," he looks at me with an expression that blatantly states, 'you are mentally insane'

"I told you. I got this." I reassure him.

_No. You. Don't._

"I swear to God, Sam. I'm gonna kill you if we end up dead." he starts off serious, but he ends up laughing when I lift a 'dare you challenge me' eyebrow.

"Yes, Carl, that's extremely productive." I tease, I grab his hand, "Now let's go! I wanna ride the carousel!" I start running, pulling him behind me, but he pulls his own weight before long and I'm having to keep up with him. We run all the way to the carousel and then we check out the controls. I'm not wrong, there is a generator that takes Carl a few pulls to bring the machine to life. Then it's a matter of figuring out how we're gonna get on and start the thing.

"There's a delay switch," Carl says after studying the control board for a few minutes, "We can start it up, and it'll take some time to actually start. Go, get on, I'll be there in a second," he's giddy with excitement, his tone is lighter than usual, and it's a side of Carl I haven't seen before. I think I like it.

I find a horse that's paint is chipping from wear over time, but the saddle is a faded bright blue, my favorite color. Carl fires the ride up, and light's turn on, and the machine creaks as it starts to move. My heart is up in my throat, the noise makes me anxious, but then Carl jumps on the platform that's just beginning to spin and he jumps on the horse next to me. He's seated just as the ride picks up and my heart soars with the movement. The horse creaks up and down, and Carl's next to me and he's smiling like a little kid.

"Looks like the sheriff found himself a horse," I tease over the noise. It's quite possibly the girliest horse there was. The horse itself is a faded pink and there's painted bows on the horse's lavender saddle. Yes, lavender.

He rolls his eyes, "There was no manly option. It's a carousel! It's made for little kids."

_That's not what your expression said!_ I silently taunt back. Instead I just roll my eyes, obviously unconvinced.

The excitement ends when the ride creaks to a stop. I'm surprised that my ears don't immediately pick up the groans of walkers.

"I choose next!" Carl shouts as he hops off the ride to the next one. He shuts off the ride completely and the lights turn off too. I run after him, careful not to move my left arm as I do. No reason to cut short the fun because of the stupidest rule.

He chooses bumper cars and I'm the one that fires up the ride this time. Whimsical lights illuminate the place, however this one starts off quieter, but it wouldn't be any fun if we didn't run into each other. Carl's sitting in the dark blue car and I narrow my eyes at him, because that was the only blue one. I end up picking green, because that's next best.

Once I'm strapped in, Carl drives his car at me full throttle, which sounds menacing, but it's bumper cars, so it's a whole 5 miles an hour. Still the force of the impact throws me back and Carl has a mischievous glint in his eyes. When I recover, blinking the slight shock away, I glare at him.

_Oh it's on hot shot. Better hold onto your sheriff hat. _

I turn the car around, and make a seeming retreat, only to circle around and ram him from behind. He flashes me a look and then it's on for real. We wheel around slamming into each other over and over. Until the ride shuts down, and then Carl gets up and starts it again. I laugh and it goes on that way for a way for a while.

There's this look of determination on Carl's face, but it's weird because he's laughing too. The air is filled with our laughs, sometimes my squeals if Carl manages to catch me off guard, and of course the sounds of our bumper cars colliding.

The ride wears down for the fourth time and I think we finally decide to move on. We shut it down and the lights fade. It's definitely the most depressing part of the experience. Like we're killing fun.

The moonlight shines brightly overhead now, it's a full moon tonight. The hat casts shadows upon Carl's pale face, and the sleeves of his Henley are pushed up, exposing his forearms that the moonlight shines silver. He's got this permanent grin on his face and his bright blue eyes are as alive as ever.

Next we go through the hall of mirrors. We have to use flashlights though so we can see in the dark. There's one where Carl's hat and head look twice as big as his body, and there's another where I'm taller than him for once.

"Does this mirror make me look fat?" I ask Carl jokingly. I'm facing a mirror that makes me look particularly round

He looks in the mirror and he looks at me, his chin rests in the space between his thumb and index finger, like he's doing some serious thinking, and then finally, he reaches his conclusion, "Yes,"

"Carl!" I protest, not really angered by his statement, but hell I'll give him a hard time anyway.

"You asked a question," he defends, "you wanted me to answer honestly and I did."

"You never call a lady fat," I scold him, pretending to be some school teacher.

"Yes ma'am," he rolls his eyes with a mocking tone in his voice.

We try to find the exit, and let me tell you, it's twice as hard in the mostly dark. _Wouldn't this be the place to find a walker_. We stop in front of another one and make faces.

"You excel at this," I comment playfully

"What?" he looks over at me.

"You're a natural at making stupid faces," I tease, nudging him with my elbow. _That'll get him back for calling me fat! _

"Ha ha," he rolls his eyes, then we move on and I take the lead with the flashlight. I turn the corner and I stop dead end. Frustrated, I turn around, but Carl's not there.

"Carl?" I call out cautiously

No answer.

"Carl!" I call more firmly, louder, I work my way back to where we were.

Nothing.

"Carl?!" My heart rate quickens, _this isn't funny_.

Silence.

I round the corner, looking frantically for him.

"Carl!?" I scream.

Something jerks into either side of my waist. I scream, terrified.

_I'm dead, it's a walker. I'm dead. Stupid Carl. If you hadn't been a dumbass and gotten lost. _

I turn around and shine my flashlight in the face of my inevitable death. I swallow, surprised, "Goddammit Carl! You scared the frickin' shit outta me!" I smack him in the chest and he laughs.

"Gotcha," he says with a smirk, his eyes are glistening conspiratorially. They clearly read 'I win' and I'm really glad I didn't pull my knife.

"That's not funny!" I protest even though I'm laughing now. I think it's mostly from hysteria.

He rolls his eyes with that stupid smirk on his face, "Come on, scaredy cat! I found the exit," he takes my hand and I wield the flashlight.

We do make it to the exit, and the moonlight greets us. I'm welcome to its natural light and I click off the flashlight, slipping it into my back pocket.

It's my turn to choose, and I know exactly where I'm going. The Tilt-a-whirl.

We arrive and I beam at it excitedly

"Oh come on," Carl groans, "this is more like the Tilt-a-hurl!"

"You picked the last two!" I protest, and he caves. I grin widely, and pull him on. I tell him to stay put and I fire up the ride. This one luckily has a delay too. I slide into the seat next to Carl, and it's clear he was showing some false dislike for the ride before, because he's eager as the ride fires up. It slings us around and we're both laughing and throwing our hands in the air. I look at Carl and his eyes are crinkled at the corners and the years of wear have dropped from his face and he looks like a kid, having the time of his life. He looks his proper age and it's great because it makes my heart happy. The ride tosses us back and forth because neither of us take up very much space, my hip crashes against his, and in an effort to make the collisions less, (_or I guess that's an excuse for it)_ Carl puts his arm around me, pushing me closer, so that our shoulders are touching too. I'm laughing and he's laughing and smiling and in that moment I feel like nothing can stop us. We're young, and we're free. We're infinite.

I'm looking at Carl and something in my gut wakes up the butterflies again. And suddenly, I'm very tempted to do something. But I can't be sure.

The ride slows down and I'm sad, I don't want this to end. I look at Carl to tell him that I'll start the ride back up if he wanted. But I don't get the chance.

He's kissing me. Carl Grimes, 14-almost-15-year-old badass in a sheriff hat, is kissing me. I'm shocked at first and I don't know what to do.

_Kiss him back stupid! _

So I do.

I know this can't last forever, but I don't care. In that moment, I only know one thing.

We're young, we're free, and we are _infinite_.


	26. Hope

There was a little saying Hershel used to have. Beth told me it back at the prison. You know, back before the Governor ruined everything. I really liked it, and it brought me a sensation of warmth in my chest. If we don't have hope, what's the point of living? And I liked that saying, it gave me a purpose. Something to always have, even when times got tough. It helped me through the sickness. And I still think hope can get us through a lot of things.

I'm the first to move away, and Carl's hands shift from my waist reluctantly. If I couldn't hear the dreadful groan of walkers, I probably wouldn't be moving either.

"Walkers," I mumble, everything seems slightly hazy, I feel too light. I have to pull myself back to reality, but my limbs aren't anxious to move, especially when I try to get up to run. "We gotta go." I snap myself back to reality, and Carl does too.

We run to our getaway truck, and Carl says he'll get the gate. I throw open the door and turn the truck on, putting it in drive. Carl opens the gate and runs and jumps into the back of the truck. I press down on the accelerator and we're off. We fly past walkers and I must admit, I'm doing pretty well for a first time driver. There's a small window in the back of the truck that Carl pushes open from the bed of the truck and promptly squeezes through. He gets into the seat, and I've made it out to the main road. He buckles his seat belt and lets out a sigh. And we're back to real life. Just like that. Crazy how that happens.

He lifts his hands to the air vents tentatively, "Is this," he's unsure and mildly surprised, "air conditioning?"

I nod eagerly, "I forgot what it was like. Man, isn't it great?"

Carl grins and sets his hands down, letting more of his body absorb the cool air.

"So when do I get my hands on the wheel?" He looks over at me, almost jealously.

"Mmmmm, I'm thinking not for a while. You're a little young," I tease, beaming pridefully. For once my slight age advantage dominates over his slight height advantage.

"You're barely older!" He protests

"Ah yes, but those two months have brought me wisdom you have yet to know," I hold my head higher, still focusing on the road. _Now would be the time I screw up_. He rolls his eyes with mild annoyance.

"What do we do when run out of gas?" Carl asks after a while.

"We walk," I shrug. It's real late, and I don't turn on the headlights to attract walkers. The moonlight will have to do. The main road is pretty straight and maneuvering around the occasional stray walker is a breeze, _You'd have to be an idiot to crash a car in this day and age. _

Carl gives a funny little laugh, breaking the silence that'd been occurring the last five or ten minutes. I look over at him for a second, lifting a curious eyebrow, "What?"

"Back when we were at Hershel's farm, my mom took out a car to go looking for my dad. He was out with Hershel and Glenn, but my mom was so worried. So she drove out to look for him. At the time no one knew where she was. I was terrified at that dinner when we couldn't find her. So Shane went out looking for her. It turns out she managed to wreck her car, like completely flipped it, on an empty road."

My eyes grow huge and I stare unblinking at the road ahead in pure shock, _Damn I'm glad I didn't say__** that**__ out loud._

"That's terrible!" I tell him

"She was alright," Carl reassured me, "it's just kind of funny to think of now, because you've never driven before and we're doing just fine." he swallows, and goes silent, staring out the window. His joke is gone and his mind has fallen to a dark place. I'd reach over and grab his hand if I wasn't terrified to take one of my hands off the wheel.

I want to comfort him, but I don't know how.

There's more silence and then Carl from the dark place speaks up again, "She didn't deserve to die. She only died so Judith could live, and now she's gone too." Carl sniffs.

"Carl," I begin, searching for words to say. Normally I'd have something real deep and shit, but my mind is in other places. I want to tell him that we don't know if she's dead, but I saw that bloody baby carrier, it'd be a stretch to say she's still here.

He rests his head against the window, I can't take this.

I gently press on the break and I put the car in park. I reach over and I run my hand in a comforting motion over his back, and he doesn't look at me.

"Why don't you get some rest," I tell him, he's probably just tired, and you have less resistance to those dark places when you're tired, "I'll wake you when I start to get tired, that's if we don't run outta gas first." I add with a lighter mood, but Carl just nods. I give him a small sympathetic smile, the kind where just the corners of your mouth are barely turned up and your eyebrows lift too. Then I put the car back into drive, continuing on.

He drifts off, and I drive. I decide I like driving, especially with no one else to contend with. Just me and the road, and occasionally one or two walkers, which I speed up for and move out of the way. I start to relax a little and I get to start thinking again.

Trees fly past me, or maybe I fly past trees, either way the tree line becomes a blur on both sides and eventually, the truck sputters and sputters and then stops.

_Well, that was fun while it lasted._

The sky is beginning to lighten, but the sun won't rise for a couple hours yet. Fatigue blankets my body, and I need sleep too. So I make sure all the doors are locked and then I rest my head against the window. I'm asleep the moment my eyes close.

"Sam?" is the first thing I hear. I open my eyes and then shield them, the sun beams brightly through the windshield. I turn my head to Carl whose dark brown hair is severely disheveled and I let out a small laugh, he narrows his eyes with discouragement.

"Your hair," I point, trying to contain my giggle. Oh dear God, I'm giggling. That's the first in a while

"Well, you've looked better yourself," Carl grumbles, trying to defend himself.

I roll my eyes, I look around and there's only one walker stumbling our way. We can take it.

Carl takes off his hat, trying to flat his mess of hair, and I smirk. I pull down the visor, and check my hair out in the mirror. Vain of me, I know. Carl wasn't wrong to say the least, my dull honey hair is sticking out all over the place in a giant rat's nest. It looks like it's trying to take over my black beanie. I pull out the beanie, wincing slightly. I flatten my hair out as best I can then I run my fingers through it. I then braid my hair into 2 loose pigtail braids on either side of my head, I slip my beanie back on. Much better.

The walker's closer now. I do a quick to make sure he's the only one, then I grab my knife from its holder, I throw open the truck door, and I jump out. I run up to the ugly thing and get him in the eye. I twist my knife in and pull out. The walker falls, and I walk back to the truck.

"Ready?" I ask Carl, grabbing one of the bags.

"Yup," he grabs the other two, slinging the duffel bag over his body and the pack on his other shoulder. He steps out of the truck and we shut both doors. Back on the road again.

We walk for a couple hours until we reach where the road meets the railroad. And we see a sign.

_Sanctuary For All_

_Community For All_

_Those Who Arrive Survive_

Next to the sign is a faded map. All the tracks, and they meet up at one point. There's a huge star and big black letters over the point that read _TERMINUS_.

Something burns in my chest. A feeling, a strong one. One that I really should've felt sooner, but haven't the cause to until now.

Hope.

"Carl, we have to go." I tell him. My gut is screaming at me to do this. This has to be it, "If anyone made it out of the prison, this is where they'd head. We have to go."

He looks at me, unsure for a second, he wants to believe that maybe some of our group got out of there. I can see it by the light in his eyes. But he's not stupid, he's thinking it over.

"You think it's legit?" he looks at me, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's something," I shrug, maybe I was a bit too anxious, "this can't be the only sign." I reason.

He looks at me for a while, still struggling with what to do, a couple minutes go by, "I guess you're right. It is worth a shot." Carl kicks at the dirt with his hiking boot, "Let's go." he turns and we follow the tracks.

We follow the tracks for several hours, we pass through a couple small abandoned towns, occasionally having to take out some walkers, but it's not much. My biggest fear is that a herd will come along. We can't take on one of those alone.

The sun starts to go down and we decide to set up camp. We head decide to stay near the railroad since it's harder to miss anything coming up in the open. We start a little fire, and we tie the cans we eat out of for dinner to some string. We stake out our little camp area, lining it with cans that'll clink if we're disturbed, we pull out the blanket from my bag. Carl opens up the bag with the medical supplies and his eyes go to my shoulder.

I roll my eyes, I know it needs to be changed to keep off the infection, so I just sit there and let him take care of what needs to be done. It's over quickly and Carl doesn't seem too alarmed by its appearance, I still refuse to look.

He wraps it back up and then we sit next to each other by the fire, I lean against him and the blanket is wrapped around both of us. We're just conserving body heat. That's what this is called, right?

After a long period of comfortable silence, Carl speaks up, "You rest," he instructs, "I'll take first watch."

I cast him a warning glance, "If you hear anything-"

"I'll wake you," he promises. His eyes are soft as he looks at me, his face illuminated by the glow of the fire. _How can I say no to that face?_ I mean, _yeah sleep is pretty cool. No Carl influence here, nope, no sirree bob. _

I glare at him, but eventually, I lay down, using his lap as a pillow. He moves the blanket that we'd been sharing over me. I protest and try to give some of it back to him, I don't want him to be cold. But he insists that I'm more important which feels like a joke to me. I'm too cold and too tired to care anymore, so I stop fighting his gesture. I stare into the fire's light, just listening to its crackling and the sounds of our breathing until I fade out.

I bolt to the sitting up position when I hear the clanking of cans. My hand goes to my knife and my eyes dart around nervously. I look over Carl and he looks at me and we both nod at the same time. We get to our feet and we sneak towards the sound of the clanking. Carl points his gun and I have my knife out.

There are two figures inside our camp and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. I lower my knife and realize Carl has dropped his gun to the ground.

His voice cracks in disbelief, "Dad?"


	27. Try

Nothing comes easy, in this world or the one we used to know. You have to try, put in a little elbow grease- or a lot- and your odds of achievement amplify tremendously. Sometimes we have to try when we don't want to, when our loved ones are down or upset, you have to try for them. You have to try and make things work. You have to try to live. Bottom line, you gotta try.

"Carl?" Rick's deep, gravelly voice fills my ears and my heart soars. I make out the other figure and a smile spreads across my face.

I run towards Michonne as Carl runs towards his dad. I embrace her, and she wraps her arms around me, "You're alive!" I cry in disbelief.

Michonne lets out a warm laugh, "It takes more than the Governor to get rid of us." she gives me a sly smile when I pull away.

Carl's still hugging his dad, and Rick hugs him back, they don't speak. The hat has fallen off Carl's head, and he doesn't look like he intends to pick it up any time soon.

"Judith?" I mouth at Michonne, and she looks down, she swallows hard and shakes her head eventually. I drop my head.

"Judy?" Rick asks Carl as the two finally separate. The color from Carl's face disappears, he's as white as a sheet. He shakes his head and his chest begins to heave. I start to move towards him and Michonne lightly holds me back. I look up at her, she shakes her head. _Let them work it out on their own._

"I thought you were dead," Carl admits, voice quivering. _This is __**not **__the time for me to tell him 'I told you so'. _Then I watch something strange happen to Carl's face in the moonlight, the glee from seeing his father and sadness at the reminder his baby sister is gone all melt. They melt into something new and almost horrifying. Anger, and hatred, "Why didn't you come for me?"

"Michonne found me, and we had to leave, Carl," Rick croaks out, "we had no choice, I didn't know who was still alive." it's clear that Rick being alive is a miracle. I can tell he's still a little wheezy and his face is still covered in bruises.

"I thought you were dead!" he spits out, stepping back from his dead, "I thought I lost everyone!"

_*Cough*, right here. _

"Carl!" Rick protests, but Carl's already turned on his heels and back to camp. I don't let Michonne hold me back this time, I go after Carl. I stop to pick up the hat he dropped on the way. His back is towards the other side of the camp and the glow of flames illuminates his back. I sit down next to him, he has his legs pulled up to his chest and his chin rests on his knees.

"Hey, you, uh, dropped this," I hand him the hat, and he takes it, but he doesn't say anything. We sit there in a deafening silence.

"Carl," I say quietly, trying to persuade him out of his mood. It does no good, he stares blankly ahead, unmoving.

"Carl, you can't be mad at him. He found us, he's here now."_ I can't tell him how to feel, he has rights to be mad. What am I doing..._

"I thought he was dead," he repeats for the third time, but it's different this time, he's not angry, he's not amazed, he's _broken_.

"But he's not," I squeak out, "he's here and that's good! He's alive Carl! That's more than I'll ever get." my voice drops out and I look away.

Carl stays like he's a statue and he doesn't say anything. I reach out to touch him, just to comfort him and he flinches away, "Just- just go to sleep Sam, I'll keep watch. You can tell that to them too." I look at him for a long time. _I can't fix this_, I can't break him from his current position. I have to let him be mad, let him blow it off on his own.

"Don't stay up too late," is all I say. I stand up and I go back over to where my blanket is. Michonne and Rick are setting themselves up on the other side of the fire and I stand up and go over to Michonne with my blanket.

"Carl said he'll take the first watch, so if y'all wanna go to bed..." I trail off, _what am I doing? Do I really think Carl's dad and mother figure are just going to stand by and let Carl keep watch on his own?_

"You kept him safe?" Rick looks at me, and I feel like shrinking away from the older man's judging stare.

"Yes sir, well, we kept each other safe," I nod sheepishly

Michonne's eyes go to the bulky part of my shoulder, "You got shot, back at the prison, didn't you?"

"I saw you," Rick confirms, "you went down."

"Yeah, I got shot," I can't meet their eye contact.

Michonne looks at me with new found interest, "And you still fought? You still protected Carl?"

"Well yeah," I shrug, "I did what I had to, and he helped me too. It's just what we do." I'm confused at what the adults are getting at, _why is it so hard to believe I did what I did?_

Michonne gives me a look of approval, "You're one tough kid."

"Thanks," I stare at my feet.

Rick looks at my shoulder, "You' been maintaining that shoulder? It ain't infected or nothin'?"

Oh God, here comes the awkward part. _Yeah I've been stripping for a son on a regular basis so he can 'fix' my 'shoulder' that's __**totally**__ what's been going on_, "Well, Carl helps out with that." I can't look at either of them.

Michonne cracks a smirk and Rick looks over at his boy, "Is that so?" he chuckles

"Yes sir," I nod, but I can't meet his gaze.

Michonne puts her arm around my shoulder, "Bet you've had a tough day, you should probably get some rest." she guides me back over to where I was and she sits down. I sit next to her and then lie down, resting my head on her leg after Michonne insisted on it. She makes sure the blanket is tucked around me and she pushes away the loose hairs from my face. She stares blankly into the fire and I watch Rick try to approach his son.

I don't hear whatever words are exchanged over the crackle of the fire and I don't try to, it's their business. Michonne continues to stroke my hair and I think about how she must have been a mom before all of this. That's the last thought I dwell on as I fade out of consciousness.

I wake early the next morning as the sun is just beginning to rise, the fire has died down to embers. Michonne stirs and I know she is awake. Then it occurs to me the last time Michonne and I were by a fire it was when Hershel was still alive, when we still had the prison.

I sit up and stretch, in the early morning light I make out Carl's outline, lying about 10-15 feet away, still asleep.

A thought pops in my head and it makes a frown form on my face, "Why wasn't I woken to keep guard?" I ask Michonne._ Has she slept at all?_

"Carl said not to, said you needed the rest," there's a look of knowing in Michonne's eye, "he cares a lot about you, you know."

_Don't remind me_._ No really, I'll blush and it'll all be over._ "Well we only had each other when we lost the prison, it's only natural." I shrug indifferently. Michonne rolls her eyes and then her eyes go to my shoulder.

"Mind if I give that shoulder a look over?" she asks, lifting a dark eyebrow.

I wince away at even the look at my shoulder. I'm protective over it, I mean it was enough that I let Carl take care of it and see it, it was necessity. But anyone else...

"I won't bite, it probably needs to be changed anyway," Michonne cracks a smile at her small joke. The smile exposes her brilliant white teeth, and it's a wonder how she can be a terrifying killer with a smile like that.

_Honestly? It's Michonne, Sam. Get over yourself!_

I let out a reluctant sigh and slip my arm out of the flannel shirt and pull down my tank top sleeve, exposing the gauze wrapped wound. Michonne is careful as she unwraps my shoulder and then her face goes blank as she hides any emotion. She peeks around to my other side, "You're lucky there's an exit wound, this could've been a lot worse."

I nod and Michonne asks where we have our medical supplies, I point her to the bag and she gets up and goes through it, grabbing what she needs. She comes back and cleans it up and properly dresses it. It scares me the way she remains blank faced the whole time.

As if Michonne can detect my uneasiness, she speaks up, "You're taking pretty good care of this shoulder. I wouldn't look so worried, just take it easy for a little while longer and it should heal up just fine."

"Thanks," I nod. I stand up once she's finished and I stand up, stepping towards Carl. _Should I wake him up? Or is he still being Moody Carl._

I decide to let him be and I notice Rick's up too. _Of course he is, those habits he formed as a farmer won't just disappear overnight._

I debate telling Rick about his son's episode that first night, when he screamed at the sky, cursing his name. _No Sam, that won't fix anything. Let them sort it out on their own. He doesn't need you, he isn't dependent on the air you breathe._

So instead I go to the bag with the food and I dig out a bag of beef jerky, caving into my stomach's grumbles. I offer some to the adults, but they tell me to eat. So I do, but only a few pieces, with more people means more food, which means less to go around.

Carl wakes up as I finish my third jerky piece and it's immediately prevalent that he's still pissed. I offer him some of the jerky and he just shakes his head at me. He has the hat tipped close over his eyes and he's even walking differently.

We pack up camp shortly after the sun rises completely and we head back onto the tracks. Carl walks ahead of all of us, I lurk back next to Michonne and occasionally Rick calls for Carl to stay back some. To this Carl, Carl remains undeterred.

I'm starting to get kind of pissed, I'm not gonna lie. Carl's dad is alive. If my dad showed up in the woods, I'd never leave his side. I mean, I sort of understand that he feels betrayed and that maybe in some twisted thought that blankets Carl's mind, Rick lost the prison. That he blames him. _But for Christ's sake, it's your father, you thought he was dead, __**but he's not.**__ Be happy why don't you? Or at the very least a little more grateful._

Michonne tries to break Carl of his anger, bless her for doing so. She does this kinda run thing to catch up with him, and she pulls out a can from her bag.

"Krazy Cheese?" she offers him the can, to which Carl turns away and continues to march on.

"It's unopened," Michonne says in an almost sing-song tone, "You can have the first pull." _Oooh, Krazy Cheese. Goddamn I'd kill for some of that. Hey you know if Carl's gonna be cranky, I'd be more than willing to take that first pull. Whaddya say? Come on Michonne, we don't need Carl. _

_Nope_, Carl remains emotionless. Michonne even does a bit over the top demonstration to try and lure Carl into caving. _No dice_. Carl pushes ahead even faster and Michonne falls back in pace with me. She wipes the extra off her mouth, because yes, she got _that_ into it.

"I'm just no good at making kids y'all's age laugh," Michonne sighs, discouraged.

I give a little shrug, "Ain't your fault he's being pouty." then I add, "I laughed, on the inside at least." I look away and I think Michonne gives a small smile.

Michonne flashes me a surprised frown, "Don't you think you should talk to him?"

I shake my head slightly, "He ain't gonna listen. He's being a stupid boy. I already tried. He's kinda starting to scare me."

Michonne gives me a look and I can't keep her gaze, I look down and she pushes me forward a little, "Why don't you try again?"


	28. Okay

Sometimes, you can never tell whether things are gonna be okay or not. Sometimes you have to make it that way. But other times, you have to roll with it and hope for the best, because you really can't do all that much about it, and you have to hope what you can do will be enough.

"Carl, you're being a dick."

_Ok. I didn't really say that, for that I'd have to be blunt, for that I'd have to have a surmising amount of confidence. I mean, hell, I've said and done some pretty, er, confident things, but __**that**__\- it just wasn't me._

"Carl, are you... ok?" I do ask, I've caught up with him and my hand gently rests against his forearm, which he's now covering with a dark blue hoodie, it's pretty chilly today. I think I'm gonna need to pull out my jacket. From a real look at him, I can tell his mind has drifted off to the dark places.

"No," he tells me plainly.

"You can't hate him forever," I don't instruct, I plead.

"Watch me," he grumbles.

_Ok, my pissed off levels just rose to about a 9, any higher and I'm about to screw my norms._

"He tried Carl. He tried to find you. He tried. That's all that matters. He didn't have a choice. He's here now."

"I'm... I'm not mad about that." he's still not looking at me.

"Then what the hell are you mad about?" I groan

"He lost everyone else in the process, the other's, they're still gone. Judith is still dead. My mom is still dead. Glenn, Daryl, Maggie. All of them, and it's all because he didn't take care of the Governor like he should have."_ Oh great, we're back to this point again._

I'm gentle as I choose my next words, "Your mom had nothing to do with the Governor." I gently remind him. _My mom on the other hand..._

"But the others. He could've saved them! He could've saved the prison! He could've done something, before the Governor even got there. If he hadn't played farmer," he sneers and the word '_farmer;_ slips off his tongue like it's something vile.

"Carl, he tried, I heard him, I saw him. The Governor was a psychopath, there was no amending to what he had done. No matter what, whether we gave the prison away or we fought, we were gonna lose our home. That was not your dad. That was not his fault." my eyebrows pull together as I firmly tell Carl the facts, "You need him Carl, whether you like it or not, he's still your father. He still loves you. You can't go it alone Carl, not in this world. Not anymore."

He looks at me for the first time, and honestly I was hoping for something a bit softer, but no. He's glaring. Hardcore glare, his bright blue eyes are cold as they bore into me, "Who are you to tell me how to feel."

_Excuse me! I am your girlfriend... I think?_

_I mean we kissed, and you saw me half-naked, and I think you like me?_

_'Cause I know I…. _

_Never mind. This is beside the point._

I jerk him to a stop, _That's it. No mercy, buddy boy. _His glare intensifies, "I'm not. I'm telling you're mad over something you can't control. You don't even know if the things you are saying are true. They still might be alive, your dad and Michonne are, and you thought they were dead! Carl, I know it hurts, and I am sorry we lost the prison, but you can't go on like this. Anger makes you stupid. And stupid gets you killed. And that's one thing I won't stand for. As your whatever-the-hell-I-am, I am not going to stand by and let your anger get you killed."

He stares at me, but it's less glary now._ Good, because let me tell you, sheriff, I can glare right back._

"Fine," is all he says and he starts walking again, but it's more normal now. And Rick and Michonne have caught up with us, and I'm glad Carl doesn't speed up. I'm not going after him again. _Who am I kidding, I totally would, I'd just have to put my temper under control._

"There," I mumble to Michonne, "I tried." she nods and gives me a small reassuring smile.

"He'll come around," she says almost tiredly. _Or not, because he's Carl Grimes, stubborn as hell, and does whatever he wants to. But sure, if it makes you feel better._

We walk on, occasionally Michonne will speak up, trying to initiate some conversation, but Carl's not for it, and I've given up on trying.

I'm bored, Rick and Michonne walk slightly ahead of me now, and I decide to start walking on the railing of the railroad, I try to keep my balance as my backpack tries to foil my plans.

Over the past hour since speaking to him, Carl's air of movement has slowly shifted more towards normal. I'm pleased when he cracks a look over at me, and a couple paces more, he joins me.

"I bet I can go longer than you can," I call over to him with a challenging tone.

"Nope," Carl's tone is lighter now, like he could almost laugh. He's in challenge mode now. I have to hope he's broken out of that annoying Cranky Carl mood.

"I always win," I remind him in a sing-song tone.

"Is that so?" a smirk cracks out on his face, and his eyebrows lift.

"Yup," I beam pridefully and continue on.

"We'll just have to see about that," Carl looks over at me again, and I think it's gone. He's back. At least for now, gotta embrace it while I can.

"What do you wanna bet?" Carl asks, we're a minute or two in. _I can do this, psh, easy._

_Well, there are several things I could put up on the table. Personally, I'm in for another kiss, but your dad and Michonne are here. And that could get awkward if they question or relationship status considering__** I**_ _don't really know._

_I'm not sure if we can really ask Michonne to put in a bit from her dwindling candy stash either…_

"You choose," I say distractedly. _Must. Not. Lose. Concentration_.

Carl's eyes dart ahead, looking at his dad and Michonne. He slows down, but maintains his balance, I do the same. Once he feels confident they're far enough ahead, he speaks at a low whisper, "I get to kiss you again if I win." _Hell, I might as well jump off right now._

_I mean, Whoa there sheriff, getting' a little eager aren't ya? _

_Yeah. That's what I meant._

"And if I win?" I lift an eyebrow at him.

It's like he's out of ideas, "You don't have to kiss me?" he almost slips off.

"Maybe I wanna," my eyes grow huge. _Did I just say that?!_ I am certain I didn't pass that one through the old brain.

Carl laughs, "Well then I guess I've already won."

"Not a chance," Screw prizes, I'm in for bragging rights.

I focus hard on the railing,_ I'll show him, that silly boy, thinking he can beat me. Ha._ My arms are extended into a T formation and I bite my tongue, which is sticking out a little. My eyebrows knit together with my concentration.

"What are y'all doin'?" Rick turns around and looks at us.

"Winning a bet," Carl calls out, he's on speaking terms again. _This is good. _

I scoff, "In your dreams,"

"I'm still on," he reminds me. Then he stumbles and Michonne laughs.

"Looks like you spoke too soon, wise guy." Michonne comments, "Get 'em Sam." She smiles and exposes her bright teeth. Rick starts walking towards us, Michonne matches him step for step.

"This might go on a while. Maybe we can speed this up?" his tone is patient, clearly he's glad to see his son in better spirits.

"You're right," I let out a false sigh, leaning a little towards Carl, "we should probably " my balance waivers and I step off. Shit. I look over at Carl.

Carl flashes me a smile like the ones I got back at the carnival, genuine. He steps off pridefully, and stalks over to me with a devilish, smug smirk, "Pay up." A mischievous eyebrow flicks up and I scowl at him.

"Later," my tone is insistent, I'm not gonna let him kiss me in front of his dad and Michonne, that'd be a little weird.

Now Carl's the scowling one, but it's all in good fun. He starts to move towards me and I hold him off, _Playing hard to get. Aren't I the bad girl?_

"Later," I tease in a sing-song tone.

We're back to the normal walking again and I'm walking besides Michonne, and she pops an inquiring eyebrow, "What was the prize exactly?" she's smirking and I stare at the railroad passing under my feet.

"It's… complicated," there's a little smile that pops out when I say and I'm blushing like a fool.

She lets out a chuckle, "I'm sure," she teases.

That night we make camp further in the woods, wouldn't be my choice, but Rick's our leader now, I'm just a kid. We string up our cans around the little area to give a little warning for walkers.

We drop our bags, finally bringing relief to my good shoulder, it's been aching from the all-day weight. Any warmth the sun has provided is quickly fading so I finally pull out my jacket. I slip it on and I see Rick and Michonne staring with horrified expressions that they make themselves minimize. I look away, trying to stop the burning sensation of discomfort their stares bring.

_Oh yeah, the blood._ To say I had forgotten my jacket was completely bloodstained would be a lie. I mean the color stood out against the otherwise calm denim canvas. But I think I've almost become desensitized to its heinous appearance. I'm cold and this keeps me warm, and I've otherwise quit giving a shit about how I look.

Rick bites on the inside of his lips and nods like Carl does sometimes when he's uncomfortable, "I think I'll go see if there's anything out there we can catch. Carl, mind helpin' me out?"

"I'll get a fire started," Michonne offers. She doesn't ask me for help, but I do anyways. I help her dig a makeshift fire pit and Carl leaves with his dad.

More dirt gets under my nails as I dig past the leaves that have already fallen from the surrounding trees. I sit back on my heels and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand once I'm satisfied and Michonne leans back too.

"That should do, why don't you go on and collect some firewood?" Michonne suggests kindly, she's still shielding her emotions some, I guess the jacket _is_ kind of offsetting.

I nod in confirmation and I push myself up. I roll my bad shoulder, it's been doing better, and I'm glad, especially after that little infection scare.

I stretch my leg over the can line and go off into the woods to search for twigs and fallen branches. My shirt is tucked behind my knife scabbard in case of emergencies. I've collected a couple large, thick branches and several twigs that'll be good for starting the fire, when I hear voices. I throw myself behind the biggest tree I can find.

"Carl, I'm sorry." It's Rick. A sigh of relief escapes my lips.

Carl lets out a discouraged grumble, he's trying to stay out of the dark places, I know it, "You don't have to be. I was an asshole." Their footsteps are closer, each step filled with crackling leaves beneath heavy feet.

"Watch your mouth," Rick scolds, but he lets out a small laugh. I peek my head around the trunk of the tree and I catch Carl giving a small roll of the eyes. They're better. That's very good. I don't think they've noticed me, but I guess that's good too. I didn't mean to eavesdrop.

I watch as Rick slaps a happy arm around his son, pulling him closer for a side embrace.

Yes. Maybe everything will be okay.


	29. Later

That night we roast rabbit over the open fire. Carl practically hasn't shut up about it because _he's_ the one who caught it. They also collected some berries that Rick said shouldn't be poisonous. I'm really counting on that shouldn't be, because the taste of fresh berries is so pleasant it hurts. It's good to eat something that isn't just drenched in preservatives, don't get me wrong. I love that shit, it keeps me alive, and it's everywhere, but there's no beating fresh food.

It concerns me that the amount of food that could keep Carl and I going for a full day or two is all consumed in one meal, and I'm not even full. I guess that's what happens when four people, two of which probably haven't eaten in a day get after a rabbit and some berries. We also split off the rest of the jerky, that goes quick.

I sit beside Carl as we eat, knees barely touching as we sit cross-legged on one side of the fire. Rick and Michonne sit on the other, I feel them watching us, even when I bow my head to get the food into my mouth quicker. Their eyes bore into my skull and it makes my face burn with a blush. What do they expect us to do, honestly? Maybe it's because I can feel Carl looking at me on the side. Are my eating patterns that interesting?

Finally the heat of their looks is too much, I swallow a greasy mouthful of rabbit, "What?"

Carl taps me on my upper arm and I swing my head towards him, he wipes a drip of grease from my chin, "Better," he chuckles.

The adults exchange a smirking glance, oh great. I flash a mild look of annoyance at Carl and he rolls his eyes and smirks.

He wipes his hands on his pants, because he's done eating, then he takes his hand that's closest to me and intertwines his fingers with mine.

My face goes slack with surprise for a moment and then I give Carl a look, my eyes wide and brows raised, like 'are you sure you wanna do this' and he shrugs nonchalantly as if to say 'we're holding hands it's no big deal'.

I mean to me it was a big deal. Before us holding hands was more a comforting thing, like 'I'm here for you' or 'let's go be crazy together', but now it's a gesture of affection and it's different, especially with spectators. But Carl doesn't mind, so I guess I shouldn't either.

Rick gives his son a look, but Carl ignores it, because he's Carl Grimes. I, however, are not so invincible to such looks and I look down at my food. I have a couple of those berries left and half a piece of jerky. About half of my meal, and my stomach feels so anxious that I don't want to eat the rest. Eat Sam, you self-conscious moron. So I do, but it's slow and I finish after everyone else.

We offer to take the first shift of watch, Rick and Michonne are reluctant at first, probably for multiple reasons, but I insist I didn't get to last night and I guess that's enough for them.

Rick sleeps with his head in our general direction and Michonne sleeps facing beyond our camp, like she's watching for walkers. Carl and I sit in pretty much silence until the only noises around are the sounds of Rick's still slightly labored breathing, Michonne's even breathing, and the sounds of the fire crackling. There's vague sounds of crickets and maybe a cicada or two, but to my ears they're almost blurred. Besides, it's getting a little chilly for those suckers.

I lean against Carl after a while, our hands are still intertwined and he lets out a sigh. He rests the side of his head against the top of my head. I could stay like this forever, it's comfortable, though quiet, and that's fine. I close my eyes and I feel myself drifting off. No Sam, you're keeping watch, watch already.

I pinch my arm and blink my eyes open, stay awake.

Carl clears his throat and moves his head, I look at him, "What is it?" I keep my voice low.

"I didn't mean what I said last night, about losing everyone. I didn't, and it's a damn good thing I didn't." He bows his head, like he's ashamed of himself.

"I know you didn't mean it," I look him in the eyes, "you were distraught, I understand."

He just stares at me for a while, his eyes never leaving mine. I just give him a small smile, the corners of my mouth turned up slightly. He bites just barely on the inside of his bottom lip. Then he kisses my cheek. "Thank you." Is all he says and I rest my head back against his shoulder. Good talk, good talk.

Our watch is nice and peaceful, mainly just enjoying the company of each other, until we both start nodding off.

I shoot my head up, blinking, we need to wake up Rick. I pull away from Carl and he jolts awake, he blinks sleepily at me I nod towards Rick and he nods back. I crawl over to Rick and gently shake his shoulder. He's quick to wake up and I use my best awake voice to explain that it's his turn to take over. I don't think I did a very good job of acting. He nods and I crawl back over to Carl, who has the blanket, our blanket, and I happily curl up next to him, quickly passing out.

Carl's stirring the next morning is what wakes me, the sun is just parting the horizon. I sit up and stretch, my grow huge. Shit. Rick and Michonne are both up and staring at the two of us.

"When were y'all gonna tell us?" Rick chuckles lightheartedly. _Oh dear Jesus, let me face his father's wrath with strength. _

_Well, whenever I knew. _

"You guys seemed to have a pretty good idea without us saying anything. We, uh, didn't feel it was necessary," Carl explains. _Yeah, that's it._ I'm still frozen, incapable of defending myself.

_Guess that makes us a thing? Why didn't we discuss this last night? Did we really think they'd stay oblivious forever?_ No, they were never oblivious, I saw those looks. We just made ourselves obvious by sleeping practically on top of each other. I should've been more conscientious about everything, _God I can be an idiot sometimes. _

I nod and I guess the conversation moves on. We eat a quick breakfast of a couple cans of fruit cocktail and we pack up camp, back to the tracks.

Now that Rick and Michonne really know, Carl has no problem with displaying affection and we spend the day walking hand in hand, I'm not gonna lie, I enjoyed it. We pass another Terminus sign and I confirm mentally we are all on the same page. Not too far after that we run into a pack of walkers about 15 strong. Carl and I break apart and Michonne takes her katana to the first three's heads. I knife a couple and Carl and Rick take down some more. It's over short and quick. _Woo. There's a way to get your adrenaline pumping in the morning._

We continue walking and Rick takes the lead again, "We've got about a day's worth of water left," He turns his head to speak to us. Water's not the only thing we're low on, food's starting to look a little scarce too. _Where's an abandoned town when we need one?_

"How's your shoulder?" Carl asks, his eyes drift that way, and I yank on his hand that's already reattached itself to mine. My trick work and his eyes go to my face instead.

"Doesn't matter," I shake my head at him, Michonne changed it again this morning, I still haven't looked, but she says it's healing fine, "I'm just lucky I didn't injure the arm I use my knife with." Which is true, otherwise this dumb thing would never heal.

"I'm sorry I care," Carl teases, I flash him a look and stick my tongue out at him.

I obnoxiously swing my hand back and forth which makes his swing that way too, he gives me a tired look and grin too wide. He chuckles and lets me go with it. Hey, he's the one that insisted on holding hands.

_Ok, he didn't insist, he held my hand and I didn't let go, but same difference._

The rest of the day goes quickly and we take out what few walkers we see. We make camp a little into the woods like the night before and we take on similar tasks as last nights. Only Rick and Carl go collecting wood instead of hunting. Michonne and I put all but 2 of the remaining cans into a pot and we heat it over a new fire pit once Carl and Rick return. We pass around the pot and take a bite as it goes around.

Carl and I take first watch again, Rick and Michonne give us and then each other this look and then go onto sleep. The stars are out tonight, and they glow brightly above us.

I'm leaning into him and then I decide I'm not gonna let this opportunity of us being alone go to waste.

"What are we?" I ask. It's innocent enough, but I still catch myself for being so blunt.

Carl gives me a look, but he's got that lazy smirk going on, and it's adorable, "Human?"

I roll my eyes and shove his chest playfully, "No stupid, I meant like us."

I'm silently cursing myself for bringing up such a vain subject, _it's not crucial to our survival. We'll still get up and move on tomorrow whether I know our relationship status or not._

"Oh," he goes quiet, "I guess I hadn't thought about it..."

_I figured this much, he's a boy, I mean honestly._

"Just forget it," I shake my head, "it's not important."

"Yeah it is," Carl argues, "You asked a valid question. I just don't know the answer." _You told Rick and Michonne... I guess that was different though._

His reaction calms me down some, I nod in understanding.

"Well I like you," I shrug like it's nothing. But it's not. It's a lot of things. It makes my heart choke up nervously.

"I like you a lot," Carl admits, his cheeks turning red.

_I mean I kinda figured, you kissed me, and want to again. Generally that's a good sign._

"I guess that makes us boyfriend and girlfriend?" He proposes

I look down, now I'm blushing, "I... I guess it does."

_Cool. First boyfriend. Score._

"Hey Sam," Carl says, and I make myself look at him.

"Yeah, Carl?" I push the hair that falls in face behind my ear.

He stammers for a bit and then forces his words out, "Is it later yet?"

Internally, I'm freaking out. _He's saying it. He's saying it! Calm down, child. Act human._ So I roll my eyes at that silly boy, "Yes."


	30. Blinded

Being blinded is a funny term. I mean of course there's the normal, can't see, kind of blindness. But there's also the kind we all suffer from time to time. You can be so distracted by one thing, you don't even notice another thing. No matter the importance of said thing, you can be blinded. It happens to the best of us, and sometimes you wish you could stay blinded.

"We should stay here a couple days longer," Rick says the next morning

"What?" Carl speaks up, "Why? What's so great about here?"

Rick lets out a sigh, "Well, it's working for now. Listen, Sam needs to let that shoulder heal and I am not completed back to normal, so we have to stay here a couple days longer. Here's as good as any place." His voice is gravelly, which is normal, and almost slightly wheezy, which is not. He's right, he's not up to par, and I don't have the heart to tell him things don't really go to plan when I'm told to rest.

We go with it though, I feel like we're falling into a rhythm and I'm kind of ok with it. Get up, kill walkers as needed, eat, take watch with Carl, sleep. The food dwindles and dwindles until there isn't any and we're in search of a town. Carl and Michonne go scavenging every day, they mostly come back with edible plants, but occasionally there's a squirrel or two, maybe a rabbit. Those are the days we eat best.

About a week has gone by, we've gone to boiling creek water, and my stomach is almost always growling. However, we're moving tomorrow, my shoulder is nearly completely healed it and Rick has stopped wheezing, the bruises on his face have healed as well.

I get to go out with Carl and Rick to check the snares they've set up today and Michonne decides to stay at our camp.

The weather has gotten even colder and these days I'm wearing a pair oversized gray sweat pants instead of my jeans with the holes in the knees, much warmer. My Docs crunch leaves below me as we walk and finally we come up on the first snare. We're in luck, we've gotten a rabbit.

"There you go!" Rick reaches down to grab it, "It's a small one, but it'll do." He stuffs it in his bag and Carl and I crouch down next to him.

He resets the snare, explaining as he goes, "So, this is just a simple slip knot. Tie one on both ends," he tightens the knot on the branch end, "Then ya tighten one side to a branch." He points at the ground, I immediately recognize the funnel shape leading into the snare, _clever_. "Now ya see how the ground here, it's sorta like a funnel shape." Yes, I can see that much

Carl narrows his eyes, studying it for a moment, "It's a trail." He realizes, his face kinda brightens at this epiphany of sorts. _I have to admit, it's really cute…_

Rick nods, "That's right."

I nudge Carl with my shoulder, "Way to go, sheriff." I tease

"That's where you wanna set the noose," he ties the other slipknot and sets it on the ground.

"So you hide it with leaves," Rick instructs, covering the bottom of the knot with leaves, "then ya set sticks all around it." He does what he instructs.

I narrow my eyes, nodding to what he says, "That way any animal that's going by will have to run this way." He sticks his hand into the noose.

"Right into the trap." I muse. _This sort of thing could work on more than just rabbits. You could do it with fish, maybe even bigger animals._ The realization makes me uncomfortable the further I think of its extensions.

"You catch on quick," Rick gives me an approving nod. He pulls his hand out of the noose, and that's when I hear the scream.

Before I know what's going on Carl's running in the direction of the scream's origin.

"Carl!" I call out.

"Carl!" Rick bellows, he goes chasing after him.

My feet are glued to the forest floor, fear freezing me in place. _Sam! Go! Move!_ I blink my stupor away and go after Rick, and Carl by extension.

I pound through the forest after them, screw keeping quiet, screw the walkers, everything else takes a back seat to me, getting to them. I pump my arms and I feel liquid pain warm my shoulder.

I ignore the sensation and keep running. I catch up and Rick has grabbed Carl away from running any further and watch the scene beyond the two of them fold out.

There's our screamer, a man in glasses, probably in his twenties. He's surrounded by walkers, and it doesn't look good. I don't have my gun and even if I did, 6 bullets won't make a difference.

I want to move, I know I need to. But I can't, I'm paralyzed again. Rick and Carl are staring at me, I can feel them looking at me, and I can also see from my peripherals that Rick is waving me over, _Move Sam!_ I scream at myself, but I can't.

The walkers have already gotten to the man and the screaming intensifies. He thrashes about, trying to get away, but it's too late. He's a dead man walking. The groan of the walkers screams in my ears and if I could move, I'd clamp my hands over my ears to make the noises stop.

My gut churns, and I can't even avert my eyes. I should be able to, why can't I?

Just when I think it can't get any worse, of course it does. My widen, scared eyes meet that of the dying man. He sees me, it's like with Boots, when I cowered under the bed. I can't move, I can't think, I just watch. The man's eyes plead for me, to do anything, even if it's put him out of his misery. But I can't, and I feel myself shake my head just slightly.

_I am a despicable human being. I am evil and vile. Just watch him die, why don't you? Does this bring you pleasure Sam? Is this how you get your kicks?!_

Then the man's two eyes on me become one as a walker rips it out from his head. A hand goes to my mouth to muffle the scream that ends up getting stuck in my throat anyways. A moment later the walkers overtake what remains of the man, and Rick is running towards me now. He grabs my right arm and I can move again. We run back to the camp, hoping the walkers don't hear us.

"We have to go," Rick shouts at Michonne, she gives Rick a strange look at first but immediately stamps the fire out anyway. We grab our bags, which already mostly packed. It's just shoving a few things in and running.

We run for a while, we make it back to the tracks and Rick stops. He wheezes for a bit, but he soon recovers and we continue walking along the tracks.

I walk behind everyone else, still shaken from what I just saw. I don't understand why I'm as disturbed by the experience as I am. People are eaten by walkers all the time. I've seen it before, I just… I'm not even sure. I hug myself and I stare at the ground as I walk.

"Sam?" I hear Carl's voice, but I don't look up, I feel his arm touching mine lightly, "What… what happened back there?"

I shake my head, the idea of words makes my mouth go dry. Well, drier than it already is.

"Sam," Carl's voice is gentle and careful, "It's alright."

"Please," I manage to choke out, "Just leave me alone." I don't want to be around him like this, I don't want him to see my insanity.

"No," he says firmly, "I'm not gonna leave you. It's stupid to ask if you're ok, because you're not. I see that. And if you don't wanna talk about it, then ok. But I'm not leaving you." He pulls my arm out of my self-embrace. He steals my hand and gives me a smirk indicating he doesn't plan on letting go.

I let out a sigh, I'm not going to win. _Put it away Sam, pretend you're ok_. I try, but I can't master that completely. I stay quiet, but I do look up and try smiling at Carl.

We run into basically no trouble and find somewhere else to camp for the night. Tonight, we found a car just off the tracks on a road. I help Michonne start the fire and Rick pulls out the rabbit from earlier. It doesn't go very far and my stomach is still grumbling once I've finished.

Rick and Michonne are exchanging small talk and I watch them with a supreme lack of interest.

"Sam," Carl speaks up suddenly, "did you hurt your shoulder earlier?"

I look at him for a moment, confused at what he means. _I mean yeah. I did something earlier, and the pain's been back. But nothing new…._ "Maybe, why?" I look at him, trying to figure out what's going on.

He points at my shoulder, my jacket is covering it, and there's the old blood, which is fading from my constant wear, and then there's bright red pulsing through, creating new stains. Carl orders me to turn so he can see my back.

"Dammit Sam," he curses, "why didn't you say you were bleeding again?"

_I didn't think…. I just I…._

I just shrug, which makes my shoulder hurt even worse. Rick and Michonne have their attention focused on me now, "Honey, why don't you take off your jacket, we'll just check your shoulder out. Carl, get her some Advil or something." Michonne instructs and she moves over to me. Carl brings her the bottle of pain relievers and some gauze and alcohol. I remove my jacket and then the flannel shirt, and another long sleeve, and I slip my arm out of the tank top.

The cool night chills my bare arms as Michonne tends to my shoulder, there's an edge of relief in her voice, "It's alright, you just opened the wound again and agitated it. Nothing that won't heal." She smiles kindly, and I look down. _How could I have been so stupid. I can't believe I didn't notice something like this earlier._

I guess I was just blinded.


	31. Taken

Sometimes we take things that are not ours. Before it was immediately wrong to take things that did not belong to you. But still people took from stores and took from houses. Now, it's a little different. Sometimes we take to survive, there's no one to claim the items we take anymore, like food from abandoned stores. But there is that defining line that still stands with us. It is wrong to take things from someone else, things they hold near and dear to them. Things that are physical, like food or books. But you can also take metaphysical things. And them being metaphysical does not make them any less wrong.

I layer back up after Michonne re-bandages my shoulder. Even that can't damper tonight's cold. Rick and Michonne insist that Carl and I use the abandoned car as shelter. When I ask about watch duty, Rick says they'll take the first shift tonight, which I took to code as _y'all aren't gonna watch tonight._ Once they start the shift, it's hard for them to switch that duty over to us. So Carl grabs our blanket and we go hunker down in the car. We settle into the back seat and we don't talk much, we just kind of sit there, I lean against him and he rests his head against mine. He doesn't ask about earlier or why I kept the shoulder thing from him, which in all honesty was accidental. And I like that, sometimes Carl knows when to keep his mouth shut.

It doesn't take long for the wear of the day to make my eyelids droop. I start to pull away from Carl and he casts me a confused look. We really can't lay down in this car, so I just figured I shift over to the other side and rest my head against the side of the car, like Carl was already doing. I'm too tired to successfully produce words and so I just nod my head towards the other side of the car. There's a moment of realization that crosses his face, and he gives me a sleepy nod. So I get comfortable and then I get an idea. I turn so that my back faces the car door, I put my legs up on the seat, they're bent so Carl still has room. Now I can rest my head against the seat, much softer. Much better. Carl looks over at me, lifting a curious eyebrow, I stick my tongue out at him because I thought of the idea first, in response, he grabs my legs and yanks them into his lap. I let out a protesting yelp and he chuckles.

"They're mine now," he teases, shaking my foot and I glare at him.

"You're such a dork," I sigh, I lean my head back and close my eyes. He doesn't let go of my legs, and I really don't care because I'm asleep before long.

"Sam," Carl's voice comes at a focused hiss, the tone is scary and I'm instantly awake. I look at him, and his eyes are frightened. I open my mouth to ask why, but then I look just above him and I see a man.

I scream, and both doors of the car fly open, someone grabs me from behind. The man from the window takes Carl.

I hear the slash of a knife cut through fabric and suddenly my sweat pants are at my ankles.

I thrash wildly, trying to escape the grasp of my captor. A grimy hand that smells foul clasps over my mouth to muffle my scream. My mind races like crazy and it's not like before when I can't move or think, that's all I can do now. But now it's completely useless.

I shove my elbows back, meeting the assumed man's torso, he groans but that only tightens his grip on my small body.

"Quit your squirming, that'll only make it hurt more," a disgusting cackle rings in my ear. I'm horrified as I realize the voice rings a vague bell. His vile breath is hot against my neck and I can feel his unshaven face pressed next to mine. It's rough against my cheek and terror courses through my veins. The man holds still long enough for me to take in some of my surroundings.

I've been pulled away from the car and I see Rick. There's another man there, he's got a gun pressed against Rick's skull. Another gun's pointed at Michonne. My frightened eyes make their way over to Carl. The man I saw in the window has a knife to Carl's throat and has him tightly restrained. There's a desperate look in the man's eye and I know that things are not going to go over well. There are more men scattered about, with various weapons and varying degrees of lustful desperation as their eyes flicker between Michonne, Carl, and I.

"Ey, Joe!" shouts the man that holds me. His other hand is restraining me at my chest, he squeezes and a sickening feeling arises in my gut along with the desire to fight back. I try to twist away, but the grip strengthens. Now I can hardly breathe, "This her, the one with the shirt. The one that killed Lou. I can smell 'er." there's a dreadful inhale as he smells me and I'm still trying to wrench myself away.

I can see the expression of realization on Carl's face. But it's different from earlier, now it's twisted and scared as he puts the puzzle pieces together. I can feel Rick and Michonne's eyes on me too, they are either frightened or horrified at this news and I can't tell which. Tears of mixed emotions threaten to form in my eyes. Humiliation, pain, anger. I blink them away.

In the moonlight, I see the man that has the gun pressed against Rick's skull and my gut drops. It's Tennis Ball Bouncer. Back for revenge for me killing his friend. _But why have a gun on Rick, why not me? Unless..._

_Rick is the him. The one they were searching for. Rick. Is. Him._

Joe lets out a sickening cackle, "Well then I reckon you get to have her first." I fight more and then hand on my chest slips to below my belly button, another squeeze. I try and bite the hand and that one moves to my chest. I don't speak though, screaming would be useless. So I just stand there, trying not move. I can't stand the vile feeling on my skin.

"Today's the day of reckoning sir," Joe explains to Rick and I hear the safety click off, "Restitution. Balancing of the whole goddamn universe."

I squirm about as my holder starts to get grabby again.

"Shit, and to think I was turning in for the night on New Year's Eve," Joe chuckles a sick chuckle and my blood boils, "now, who's gonna count down to the ball drop with me? Huh? 10 Mississippi. 9 Mississippi. 8 Mississippi."

"Joe!" A new voice calls, and I manage to crane my neck around. The moonlight illuminates on a figure in a leather vest and a crossbow.

Daryl.

"Hold up," Daryl instructs as he moves closer to us. He looks over at me and I feel shame. I can't look at him, he quickly moves on and takes a look at the others.

Joe glares at Daryl, clearly not pleased, "You're stoppin' me on eight Daryl."

Daryl's in the center of everything, "I said hold up."

A different man with a gun pointed a Rick speaks up, "This is the guy that killed Andy. That girl got Lou. So we got nothin' to talk about."

Joe speaks up, and I must admit he surprises me when he says, "The thing about nowadays is we've got nothin' but time. Say your piece Daryl." I look to Daryl with hope. _I mean he's Daryl Dixon, what the hell can't he do._

"These people, you're gonna let 'em go." Daryl instructs plainly. He stares at Joe. And Joe stares back, "These are good people."

"Now I... I.. I think Andy and Lou would disagree with you on that. I'll of course have to speak for him and all, 'cause your friend here killed him for nothing. That girl strangled Lou in a bathroom."

_Me? Did I __**really**__ do that? _

_Yes. I did, the memory makes my heart feel like lead. I knew it was bad. I shouldn't have killed him. I shouldn't have. _

_Goddammit Karma, you bitch._

I look fearfully at Daryl, wondering what he's gonna do next.

"You want blood," Daryl growls, "I get it." he drops his crossbow, "Take it from me man. Com' on."

Joe is taking on a look of slight distress and disgust, it's obvious he'd taken a liking to Daryl. "These people killed our friends. You say they're good people." he shakes his finger at Daryl, "See that right there i-i-is a lie." his tone darkens as he repeats, "It's a lie!"

A man comes in a takes a hit at Daryl

"No!" shouts Rick. More men come at Daryl, beating him to the ground.

"Teach him fellas, teach him all the way." Joe demands. They push Daryl up against the car and fists go flying and feet launch themselves into Daryl's gut. I hear Daryl's groans and exclamations of pain.

I grab at my captors arms and try to push them away, but he easily grabs both my arms into one hand.

"Shhhhhh," his slimy breath penetrates my nose and makes me wanna squirm more, "We'll have our fun soon enough." My last meal threatens to make an appearance, the idea that man puts in my head. It's enough to make me sick.

I don't verbally protest though, it's what he wants. And frankly, it's pointless. No matter how much I protest or beg for mercy, he'll still do horrible things to me. But tears are still piling up in my eyes, the occasional cry escapes much to my own protest.

My eyes go to Carl and his expression is that of pure terror, the man holding him is whispering in his ear and Carl tries to pull away, escape from the sickness and evil that fuels these men. Carl's face contorts painfully and I just want to help him.

Michonne moves for her sword, "You'll get yours," promises the man with the gun on Michonne. And she freezes.

Over all the rustling and beating of Daryl I manage to hear the eerily calm growl from Rick, "Listen. It was me. It was_ just me_."

"See," Joe exclaims, bending down in Rick's face, "Now that's right. That's not some damn lie."

"Look," Joe explains, "We can settle this, we're reasonable men." I'm taken aback by this statement. _Reasonable? Reasonable?! I'm sorry, weren't you the one's that pressed guns to our heads stating that we were gonna die with no statement otherwise? Yeah. That sounds totally reasonable to me. _

The hand that grabbed below my belly button moves to my throat now, the knife is back. _Ok, maybe I should stop struggling._

"First, we're gonna beat Daryl to death. Then we'll have the girl, then the woman, then the boy." I want to scream, but I know the knife would be in my throat and this would all be over, "Then I'm gonna shoot you and we'll be square," Joe lets out the kind of laugh movie villains used to after they revealed their master plan. That's what this feels like. But it's not a movie. This is real, and I have a difficult time wrapping my head around that concept.

The man holding me pushes me to the ground and I let out a surprised squeal. I hear a thump not too far away and I know they're doing the same to Carl. My eyes find him and he's writhing on the ground trying to escape the sick man's grasp.

I don't have time to think about Carl now, because there's a grown man pretty much sitting on me and trying to do unspeakable things. Choked noises escape my mouth as the man is holding both my arms with the single hand and unbuckling his belt with the other. I'm hyperventilating. I try to roll back and forth, attempting to get him off of me.

I'll be damned if this sicko is the first to get in my pants.

I can't be valiant now, because tears are streaming down my cheeks as I try to fight him off, I can't stop the sobs escaping my mouth as I kick try to fight him off of me. The man is cackling and I wish I could reach my knife.

I hear Carl crying too and my heart breaks in unspeakable ways as my cheeks turn hot, _no. I'm not gonna let this happen. I can't._ But I'm weaker than the man is and I'm wearing out quickly.

My chest is heaving and the tears are starting to cloud my eyes. I can hear Joe laughing in the background, but not over the man on top of me, he's unzipping his pants now. _Oh God. Please God no._

Then I hear a gun, is Rick dead? Michonne? I crane my head to see, because the man on top of me is shocked too. Joe has been thrown back and Rick's on his feet now, he throws a punch at Joe and Joe hits Rick back, knocking him too the ground. A distorted scream escapes my throat, and the man clamps his hand over my throat, he puts pressure on it and gargled noises escape my mouth and I really can't breathe now.

"I got 'em," Joe announces, he kicks fallen Rick in the gut, "Oh it's going to be so much worse now." another kick and Rick groans. It makes me think of Daryl. Is he even still alive?

Carl's cries fill my ears and my eyes go to him, he's clawing for the knife that's just out of reach.

I try to yank my arms free, but the man wrenches me back to a position of tolerance, his hand pulls up from my throat and I take in a ragged breath. He pulls so hard, my shoulder screams. And I let out a bloodcurdling one, black spots dance in my vision and I continue to try and wiggle away.

"Come on," I hear Joe's calls again, "get up. Let's see whatcha got."

Tears stream harder down my cheeks, now with the extra motivation of pain in my shoulder.

Through the murkiness of the tears clouding my vision, my thrashing head catches sight of Carl who's now pinned to the ground on his stomach._ Oh God. Please no. Not Carl. Not my Carl. _How I still manage to think of him while I'm going through my own hell I may never know.

I let out a whimper a midst the sobs and the screams and then there's a cackle from the man on top of me, "You scared honey, this your first time?" my fists clench up in the man's arms.

"What the hell are you gonna do now sport?" I hear the sickening voice of Joe over everything again, I contort my head and look up.

Rick takes a bite out of Joe's neck._ No, I must be mis-seeing things._ I blink hard, thinking my panic has brought on hallucinations. I look again and Rick's spitting out something, Joe falls to the ground letting out horrible choking noises. Blood gushes from his neck. _Oh God. Rick bit Joe. _

_You do what you have to for survival. A whole new meaning._

Everything stops and the man begins to let up. He's in shock of what just happened. I hear a gun shot and decide to take advantage of his stupor. I wrench my hands from the man's grasp and punch him in the face hard. I manage to get to my feet and grab my knife. More gun shots go off. The man pulls me back down, trying to go for a second shot.

_But guess what douche bag, I'm armed now. _

I get onto my knees and my knife sinks into the man's skull, the grip slackens, but I don't let up. I stab him over and over, blood spilling. Brains squelch under my hands. But more sobs of anger escape my mouth and I keep stabbing. I can't hear anything. My ears ring and everything is dulled.

"Fuck you bastard!" I scream at the corpse, "Rot in hell!" I stab and stab, its head is just a pile of oozing mush, the skull pokes out of the broken flesh awkwardly and I stab on. Anger pouring out from my body. "This is for all the shit you did to me!" I'm losing it. I'm going insane. I can't stop myself though, everyone else could be dead for all I know. But I can't. Stop. Stabbing.

Then something from outside of my head gets through. I feel a light touch on my shoulder, I whirl around, knife tightly gripped, I'm poised to kill. It's Daryl. He tells me to let up and I'm amazed I can hear him. My chest shakes wildly, but I drop my knife. My head bows. My nails sink into my bare thighs, as I try to level my head out again. Slow blinks, ragged inhales and exhales. After an unknown amount of time, my attempt at finding serenity is broken.

"I'll kill him," one voice calls over the now silent night. I turn my head. It's that sicko with Carl. The knife's at Carl's throat and his eyes are wide and afraid, "I'll kill him!" I want to launch myself at the rat, no way I'm letting him hurt Carl more than he already has. But my legs are shaking beneath me, I doubt they could hold my weight. I settle for glaring and breathing heavily

"Let the boy go," Michonne demands, her voice shakes with fear and adrenaline and she holds the gun with trembling fingers.

I hear the slash of the knife, my head whirls, it's Rick. He's probably put Joe out of his misery. He stalks over to the man that holds Carl, knife in hand. Blood drenches his beard and the moonlight has a ghoulish effect on Rick that scares _me_, let alone what it must do for the guy that's holding his son. _You better run, bitch. He's gonna get you._

He releases Carl and drops the knife, his hands are held up in a surrender position, "Please-" escapes the man's lips before Rick plunges the knife into his gut. There's no pleading with guys like him. They deserve death. Rick twists the knife and yanks it out of his gut. Then the knife goes into the dying man's throat, and Rick pushes it further and then a little out and then back in. He does this over and over. _Never mess with Rick's son. _

I look over and Michonne is holding Carl. He clings to her dependently, and he gives the man that Rick continues to stab a look that I cannot describe. There's pain and anger and fear all at once and something I cannot begin to discern. Daryl touches my shoulder again, this man and I were never close, our greatest bond was him telling me my father was dead. But even so he tries to comfort me.

But I can't do it, his touch makes me flinch away. _It's just Daryl._ I tell myself, but my body cannot stand the touch anymore, not without tears being brought to my eyes.

Even if the man did not take from me what he intended, he has taken something greater. And for that, I am not sure if I will ever forgive.


	32. Waves

Life is like an ocean. There a waves, and there are high points, generally associated with happiness and good things. And there are low points, which are the not so good things. You never know when your wave will crest and you get something so good you get to ride that baby all the way to shore. But there are other times, when you hit those low points, where you go under, and it's like your drowning, you feel like you'll never emerge from the darkness and pain. Sometimes, you can look out on the ocean and see the big waves coming, the important stuff, or what looks important and scary. And sometimes, by the time they hit you, they aren't as big or as powerful as you feared them to be. They don't really have a long term effect on you. You jump the wave and you move on. But there are other times, when those waves are as big and as bad as you fear. They do make an impact on your life, and sometimes they pull you under and you have to wonder whether you'll ever come back up. These are the things that change you.

Now at this point, you probably think I'm knee deep in some hippie-dippie shit, and I promise I'm not. It's just my many summers spent at the beach have taught me a life lesson or two.

While I love books, and there's absolutely no way for me to deny that- nor would I want to. I also placed my fondest memories in my summers before the world went to shit on the Georgia coastline. I loved boogie-boarding. Now, I'm not gonna lie and say I was some huge, amazing boogie-boarder. Because I wasn't, by no means, I just enjoyed me some Georgia coastline waves. Every summer we would road trip from our north Georgian home down towards Savannah, Georgia, just past that city were several beach towns and beach area. My family had a timeshare on a little beach house down there and we'd spend a week every summer. Basically, it was the highlight of my summer.

My parents first got me on a boogie-board when I was three, and from then on, every summer, my boogie-board and I were inseparable. I'd get up early every morning, eat cereal and then like clockwork I'd be in the ocean at 8 on the dot. I'd boogie-board until noon when my mom would call me in, I'd eat a sandwich, but I couldn't go back into the ocean until one, because of some dumb superstition, I generally swam in the pool we shared with the neighbors of our beach house because apparently that was ok. And then I'd boogie board until the sun went down. Then I'd eat dinner and pass out, because it took a lot of strength to fight the was how it was for the last three or four years I did this, once my parents decided that I could handle myself, which admittedly, was a good feeling. One that I came to assume just a couple months later, when people started to eat people.

Right about now, I feel like I'm being held down with one of those big waves, like I'm drowning and there's no way to get up. I can't look at Carl, he must have seen what I did to that man. But he deserved it, didn't he? For what he was trying to do...

_Carl and I were almost raped._ I think I am going to throw up. That's just something I can't come to terms with, the events of the past hour don't feel like they happened. But I feel it, I still feel violated and my sweat pants with the slashed waistband sit around my ankles to prove it.

Michonne comes to me after a while, she already escorted Carl to the car and now she comes back for me, tears are still slipping silently down my cheeks and my chest is heaving. I can't throw up, I need this food. I instruct myself. She comes over and she gives me a hug, I hug her back and a sob escapes my mouth.

"Shh," her voice is soft and nurturing, "it's alright. It's all going to be alright." she rubs my back and I try to get myself under control. She lets go after a while and says she'll be right back.

She brings me a pair of jeans because these sweat pants are pretty much useless now. I put them on, and then she helps me up. I stumble, my legs are definitely not steady. She helps into the front seat of the car and Carl's in the back. He doesn't look at me, and I can't look at him. I just can't, it's too humiliating after all that's just happened.

Michonne makes sure I'm ok, which really I just nod, I'm not ok, I can't be. There's no way, but I nod anyway. She kisses my forehead and gives me a kind smile. She shuts the door and I lean against it. She opens the back door and sits down, I think we're just kind of getting out of Rick's way. I hear shifting and I move my eyes, but not my head. Carl is resting his head on Michonne's lap and she's stroking his hair. My heart sinks at the effect tonight has had on Carl. _Will we ever be ok?_

I think hysteria claims my mind and I can't hold consciousness anymore, so I somehow manage to sleep. But I do not dream of anything, and I'm glad for that. Finally, some relief.

I wake the next morning and I actually do feel somewhat better. It's not a lot, but it's something. I turn around and Carl's still asleep. Mouth slightly parted, hints of his front teeth are visible. Michonne is still awake, she looks at me with concerned eyes, I still can't talk. I'm not that much better.

"I think we're moving today," Michonne says quietly, only so she doesn't wake Carl. Poor Carl.

I nod, and I catch Michonne eyeing my shoulder, "Did you hurt it again last night?"

The word again makes my stomach twist uncomfortably.

I nod, _honestly, this time it wasn't my fault._

Her jaw tightens, "Once he wakes up I'll look at it, ok?"

I nod.

I turn back around and stare out the windshield. There's a part where it's shattered, but the glass hasn't fallen yet. I find that to be a good visual for how I feel, I'm shattered and broken, but I haven't fallen yet. I won't let myself fall, I can't fall. I have to look strong, I have to try.

Because life comes in waves, and sometimes you have to come out of it, even if it's hard.


	33. Pain and Poison

Pain and poison are such interesting words. You associate pain with poison. I mean, poison isn't frolicking through meadows of bunnies while you run through rainbows on a unicorn. But you don't think of pain as a poison. But it is. Pain gets in your system and it screws you up and sometimes you die with it. You die in pain. You live with pain. It's your choice, and sometimes you can chose, do you want pain, or do you want poison?

Michonne ends up having to wake Carl up, because daylight is wasting and we need to get a move on, Rick thinks we're still a couple days walk from Terminus, and we have to find food. Daryl says there's a place he found with Beth, it's mostly burned down now, but there are still some places around that might have food. Anything, I'll take anything.

I'm already out of the car and have my bag on my shoulder when Carl gets out of the back of the car. I tell myself to look at him, I can't ignore him forever, and even if I could I can't let myself do that.

His head is bowed and he sets the hat on his head so it shields his eyes from the public. His messy, dark brown hair peeks out from the bottom, and it's disheveled, I know it's from sleep, but it makes me think of how disheveled it was last night as it framed his frightened face- _stop Sam. You can't connect everything to last night. He's more than that and so are you, so just get off it!_

I don't know what I was expecting from Carl, at least for him to walk... near me. Or maybe at least look at me, I know it's hard on my part, but hell at least I'm trying to be better. No, we head out on the road and he lurks at the very back, head down, it's like he's had everything that held him together is gone. I walk beside Michonne and from time to time she takes a glance back at Carl to make sure he's still hanging in there.

Rick is at the front, he's still on line of crossing into crazy town, which scares me, a lot. Daryl walks just behind him, crossbow slung across his back. I study it, it bumps as he walks. That's what I focus on. _Keep looking ahead, just keep looking._

But I catch myself looking back, there's Carl, and heat piles up in my chest. It weighs me down and burns me at the same time. I quickly look away. I can't look for long, too much pain all at once.

_You can walk by him Sam, he's still Carl. He still cares about you, you still care about him. Nothing's changed._

_Everything has changed. _

I can't bring myself to walk beside him,_ would he even let me?_ It's hard enough to try looking at him.

_Better Sam, we're trying to be better._

I slow my pace, and Michonne gives me a look, but she stays at her own pace.

Even though I slow down, I still think I'm the same distance from Carl, he's slowed too. He doesn't want to be near me, I get it, it hurts, but I get it. I speed back up, getting into step with Michonne. I'm looking straight ahead, but still the pain lingers. To be away from him is pain, but to be near him is poison. Which do I choose?

"Are you ok?" Michonne asks after a while, her eyes flit back to Carl, suggesting that he's the thing I'm either ok or not ok with.

I shrug, because I'm really not sure.

She looks over her shoulder at Carl, "You know, you should probably go to him. You need each other, especially now. I understand it may be hard. But trust me, it's for the best."

I look at her, and then at the ground, and then at Carl. There's the pain again, it burns my soul, and spreads to my chest.

_Do it, Sam. Just do it. You don't have to talk. Just... be there._

I take a deep breath and I basically stop walking, letting Carl catch up to me. And he does, eventually. He says nothing, he doesn't even look up, I walk in pace with him, which is unbelievably slow.

He doesn't protest and I swear his shoulders are a little less slouched. I feel the poison coursing through my blood now. It's like lead and it makes my body a thousand times heavier. It makes each breath harder to take and each blink harder to make. It's certainly not better than the pain, but I'd rather go about it this way. Michonne's right, we need to be there for each other, even when we're weak- especially when we're weak. We get what each other is going through, we shared that experience, even if it wasn't good.

I start to move my hand towards him, until it's about 6 inches from his and the poison is too much and I quickly pull it away. _I'm not there yet, baby steps, baby steps._

We make it to the pile of ash that night. Daryl says it used to be a moonshiner's shack, but he and Beth... they burned it down? Or at least that's what he told me... We find a small house not too far away. The adults clear it for walkers while Carl and I are told to wait outside, I admit I don't particularly care for this plan, I don't dispute. I'm still not talking. We sit on the porch, him still not looking up, and me looking ahead, because the looks I give him are still at the stolen stage. There's about a foot of space in between us, and I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's not how it's supposed to be with boyfriends and girlfriends. I try to scoot closer and my throat starts to close up. _Nope. Nope. I'll deal with my share of poison right here_. Bored, I sit with my elbows resting on my thighs and chin resting on my palms. I let out a sigh, my eyes drift over to see if he's changed. Nothing.

The adults reappear a few minutes later, saying the house is now cleared, and we're in luck, there's food.

The kitchen has 4 cans of various vegetables and there's a cup of ramen noodles that just needs boiling water. The house has 3 cases of bottled water. The people that lived here before, they must've been like super athletic or super water freaks, or something. The natural gas still works and Michonne grabs a pot from the cabinets, we boil one of the bottles and pour it on the ramen. Everyone takes a can, but I'm lucky, I get the ramen.

We eat in the living room of the house, I sit cross-legged in an over-sized recliner, Rick and Michonne sit on opposite sides of a couch, Daryl sits on a smaller couch, his feet propped up on the arm of the sofa, and Carl sits on the ground, back propped against the wall, legs in front of him. He could have sat by me, this chair is huge, easily roomy enough for two lean people such as Carl and me. But no, he walks the lonely road.

I catch him giving longing looks at my ramen, and the fact that he's actually looking up is promising. It makes my skin prickle with hope, and I feel myself get up and the pain in my chest leaks out into poison as I make my way over to him. I make myself sit down so our hips and shoulders are touching. My stomach has tensed up. _No. No throwing up now. You be a good girl. You're doing so well_. Carl's body is just as tensed to the sensation of us touching. I look at him and he has his teeth grit, but the look in his eyes tells me he doesn't want this pain. He wants to be with me. And I understand this sensation, I understand the pain and the poison. And in that moment I know he feels it too.

But which do we choose?

I don't know, I just hope we choose together.


	34. Afraid

Everyone feels afraid sometimes, afraid to speak up, afraid to act out. Fear keeps us alive, but it doesn't control us. It does nasty things when it does. It's ok to be afraid, but you have to know when it's time to move past those fears, because it might be for the best.

I lift a forkful of ramen towards him, offering a bite. He nods and trades me his can of cooked carrots. I take a bite, and give him back his can. I hate cooked carrots. I wince slightly as I swallow, and I think I catch Carl biting back a chuckle. He hands me my ramen and one of the noodles hangs out of the side of his mouth. I feel my first smile since the_ incident _spread across my face. I point to the noodle and he slurps it into his mouth. There's a warm sensation that spreads throughout my body, but this one doesn't burn, which is nice. He looks at me now, and it's like he can't look away, which makes me look down, because it's hard for me to hold his gaze. _You wanted this, kid. Time to own up._

I see it, out of the corner of my eye, Carl's hand is moving towards mine. He's recovering quickly, quicker than I am at least. I guess all that time in his head has really given him some time to work things out. My heart pounds in my chest, _do it. Don't flinch. Just let it roll._ I feel his fingers slip between mine and I can't concentrate on my food anymore. He squeezes my hand and I can feel him looking at me._ Look back! _But I can't, I just stare at my ramen.

"Sam," he speaks for the first time and my throat tightens,_ I'm not ready for this. Why did I try, I can't do this_. I have to force air in and out of my lungs.

_Please don't notice. _

"Sam," his voice firms up.

_Inhale, exhale._

_Inhale, exhale._

_It's just Carl, it's only Carl._

_Inhale, exhale._

_Inhale, exhale._

"Sam," his other hand moves to my chin, moving my head so I have to look at him, "please, Sam." his bright blue eyes are intense on me, they plead for me to look at them longer, but I can't. I look down, and Carl lets go of my chin. But he continues to hold my hand. _I can't do both at once, look and touch, one thing at a time._

He doesn't push me further, that's what I like about Carl. The pressure of his hand is comforting and killing at the same time. I miss this feeling, I like holding Carl's hand, I like being with him, it's just hard now. I don't want it like this though. Especially now that he's come around, I don't want to be the problem. I want to lean on him and hold his hand, I _really_ want to kiss him- but I doubt I'll be able to handle that any time soon, unfortunately.

My body starts to calm down after a while and I don't feel like puking when he holds my hand, which is nice. I finish off my ramen and all there's left to do is sleep. Daryl says he's staying put, Rick and Michonne push the couch in front of the door, and any other doors leading to the outside are locked. Michonne takes one of the bedrooms down the hall, Rick another, there's one bedroom left. I feel Carl looking at me, silently asking._ Damn, that kid is making a comeback._ Or maybe he sees me trying and wants to try back. Either option is nice.

_Goddammit. Do it, Sam. Just go._

I nod at him and we make our way to the third bedroom. In his hand that's not occupied with mine is a flashlight. He shines it into the room so we can see properly.

There's a full bed, pushed against a wall. I always take that side, so I do now. I let go of Carl's hand and climb onto the bed, untying my Docs. _Nothing has changed_, I try to convince myself.

_Everything has changed. _

My body tenses up as Carl sits down, he sets his hat on the ground, and looks at me. He's struggling too. His eyes display a thousand different emotions, pain, wanting, fear, determination. I can only imagine what I look like, probably some frightened woodland creature.

_Maybe we shouldn't do this, maybe we're moving too fast. Baby steps, right?_

_No. If he's in you're in. Don't be such a pansy_.

Carl turns away, he appears to be considering getting up.

"Thank you for trying," my first words pass my lips, he turns around, surprised for multiple reasons.

He stares at me, and I stare back. _Come on, you've started, can't stop now_, "What else was I gonna do?" he asks me, his hand finds mine. I'm starting to tense up again. _Looking, touching, and talking? Can I do it?_

"I... I'm not sure, I'm just glad you did." _ok, maybe not the most intellectual, sense-making thing I've ever said. But it's a start._

"Sam, I care about you, and I care about us, I'm not gonna let something like... _that_ ruin us. Trying is the only option we've got." he explains. I manage to nod. He smiles, and his thumb rubs the skin in between my thumb and index finger. _Yes, I like this. I like this a lot._

My eyes move around the room, taking in my surroundings beyond the bed. It's a little hard to make out at first, but then I see details. There's a dresser with a mirror that's covered in a thick layer of dust. We should search that for clothes. There's a door, which either leads to a closet or a bathroom, but I'm betting on closet. There's also a desk, papers cover it and the surrounding floor, there's a lamp and several knickknacks on display. Beside that is a wooden bookcase.

Old habits kick in with old desires that fire up in my heart. I let go of Carl's hand, steal the flashlight from his other hand and push off of the bed, I walk over in my sock feet and examine the bookcase. I put my hands on my knees and twist my mouth, reading spines and making considerations. I hear footsteps come up behind me, then I can feel his presence.

I start to grab for a book entitled _13 Reasons Why_. I read the back of the book and Carl takes the book from my hand and puts it back, I look back and him and his nose is crinkled up, "Gross. It sounds so girly. Come on, pick something we'd both like." his tone is light, and I like that. _We can tease, we'll be ok._ I roll my eyes, but start my search again. _So this a team effort now? Jeez Grimes, you're so needy._

I pick up another book, it's a white paperback with blue stripes on the cover, the stripes actually make up the shape of a man's upper body. It's called _White Time_.

We read the back of the book, only I finish before he does, because I'm a faster reader.

"Alright, let's read it," Carl decides, I look up at him.

I narrow my eyes slightly, "I'm the one doing the actual reading, aren't I?" I lift a wary eyebrow.

Carl grins, "Yup," he grabs my hand and we go back to the bed. I prop my back up on the wall, and Carl lies on his stomach, facing me, he rests his face in his hands and he watches me read. His legs are bent and his feet are in the air. I try to focus on the book and not him, because while our natural easiness is coming back, there's still a tenseness in my shoulders and arms that I just can't shake. If I look at him, hidden behind the eagerness in his eyes is still some tension and fear.

It's an... Interesting book to say the least. It's more a collection of short stories than one big story with one plot. The kind I like. But Carl seems to enjoy himself, so that's enough for me. By the time I close the book, his chin is resting on the bed and his eyes blink slowly, he's cute when he's tired.

"Hey," I say, he stirs and he blinks quickly, eyes focused on me.

"Mmm?" he mumbles sleepily, he rubs his eyes and yawns.

"Bed time," I tell him, I toss the book off the bed and click off the flashlight. Carl army crawls up the bed and he takes the flashlight from me. He sets it on the ground and he looks at me expectantly. I grit my teeth, _no, I'm not there yet. We've gotten far today, definitely further than I expected. Don't get me wrong, that's great, it's just, I'm not ready._

I don't look at him as I scoot over towards the wall. I turn my back to him. I don't wanna see his face, I don't think I could bear it.

There's the pain again, drowning my heart in its sorrows.

I squint my eyes shut, I can feel him looking at me. I squint so hard I can see stars dancing in my vision. Then I hear him turn over. Thank God he doesn't press it, or ask why I won't sleep next to him like that. Maybe he realized he's not ready for it either. I kind of hope so. _He probably isn't_. I convince myself. _It's ok_.

I come to the shocking realization that I'm really not tired. I flash my eyes open and stare at the wall in near darkness. The longer I stare the clearer it becomes, my eyes adjusting to the lack of light. I turn over and Carl's asleep. I watch his side rise and fall to the rhythm of his even breathing. I could reach out and touch his back if I wanted to. Instead I keep my hand at my side. It's easier to look now, in the dark, when he's asleep.

_God, I'm creepy._

_I didn't watch you sleep, I was present while you were unconscious. _

I turn back over, _what the hell is wrong with me? _

I try shutting my eyes again, this time with much more success. I am asleep within a few minutes.

I wake up the next morning with sunlight streaming through a large window that faces the bed. The light is harsh on my sleepy eyes. Darkness, yes, darkness is good. I close my eyes again, and then I realize there's a foreign weight on my abdomen. I let out a groan and roll over. I hit something. Or should I say someone. My eyes shoot open and I'm nose to nose with sleepy Carl and his arm is still thrown across my side.

He lets out the kind of half snore you give when you are woken sudden, his eyes blink open and he throws himself back, totally off guard. His eyes are wide and scared, but I'm not sure who they're scared for.

I just lie there, totally in shock. _Please don't tell me he thinks this was me. Trying to be extra close. Creepy close._

_Oh God. He hates me._

_He totally hates me._

_Goddammit Sam, if only you've moved sooner!_

"Uhhhhh," is all that comes out of my mouth, and I can't look again.

He sits up and blinks again, trying to wake up I guess.

"I didn't mean... rolled wrong..." my cheeks are fiery red with blush. My eyes dart nervously, but they keep managing to hit him.

Carl cracks a smile and shakes his head. From a first look, I'd say he's doing much better this morning.

"Come on, they're probably waiting on us, we slept in," Carl nods his head towards the door and I push myself into a sitting position and crawl off the bed. He helps me to my feet. He doesn't let go of one of my hands and he bends down to pick up his hat. He puts it on and we walk back into the living room. He seems fine, but he could be hiding it, he would do that. Oh Carl. My sweet Carl.

"If something feels wrong, don't do it," I tell him as we walk

He stops dead in his tracks and stares at me like I've grown a second head, "What."

I blink with confusion, taken aback with the sudden aggression in his tone, I stammer for a moment, trying to collect myself, "I just meant, if you're uncomfortable with being near me or whatever, then you don't have to push yourself for me or anything dumb like that. Only do what you're comfortable with. I'm not worth pushing yourself too far." I tighten the corners of my mouth and then bite down awkwardly on my lips.

Carl grinds his teeth for a moment and then looks at me and says, "You are, but I'm not." then he turns and we continue on like nothing happened. We walk into the living room and all the adults are standing, shit, they've been waiting on us. Daryl whistles, Carl glares and I blush. It feels like we're back to normal. And now I'm not afraid.


	35. Shadows

Shadows are everywhere, they reflect us, they cannot do anything but that. Shadows do not act on their own, they only show what we've done and what we do. The past and the present, but never the future, we create those ourselves. We create other shadows of the same significance, when you leave stuff behind. They are shadows of what you've done, and some of us leave more shadows than others.

I pick up my bag and find it drastically heavier than it was when I set it down last night, "What the hell is in here?" I groan, and only after I get a couple stares from the adults do I realize my choice in words is poor. I look at the ground as I shoulder my pack. Or maybe it's the shock that I'm speaking, either way, it makes me uncomfortable.

"We split up the water bottles we had left," Michonne explains

"Oh," I tighten my lips, "I was going to clear out the room Carl and I were staying in, if that's ok with everyone." I extend my thumb over my shoulder.

Michonne nods, her expression reveals the relief hidden behind her eyes, "Just try to keep it short, ok?"

I nod back and turn, walking back to the room. I go through the dresser and I find several clothing items that are of use to me. I stuff them all in my bag and then I go over to the bookcase. I grab _13 Reasons Why_.

T_ake that sheriff. I do what I want_. I also grab a couple other paperbacks with titles I have yet to read. I'm out in five minutes flat.

"Ready girly?" Daryl looks at me expectantly, there's a teasing tone in his voice. It feels foreign directed at me, but I nod anyways.

So we head out, we're headed back to the tracks, with no other real lead.

The trees clump close to the tracks here, so we either walk single file or shoulder to shoulder. Only Carl and I choose the latter as we linger in the back, shoulders bumping, fingers intertwined. Sometimes if I'm not careful, I'll try dodging an overgrown limb and smack my head against the brim of his stupid hat.

"Hey!" Carl protests, this must the third time I've accidently smacked his hat, "You're screwing with my look, bookworm!" he's only teasing, but it's true when I accidently bump my head, the hat gets tilted and screws with his thick mess of brown hair.

I roll my eyes, "Bookworm?" I question. He gives me a sly grin. I twist up my mouth. I remove his hat, scruff up his hair and set it back on his head, grinning like a fool. He glares at me, which only makes me grin wider. Yes, this is what it used to be like, I like this. Don't screw things up now, Sam.

"Bookworm," I scoff, chuckling slightly.

"What?" Carl protests, off of his little hair fit, "I think it's cute, suits you."

I cast a look of mild annoyance at him, he chuckles, a smirk curls up on one side of his face, "I'm sure, _sheriff_." I roll my eyes dramatically, emphasizing the name I mainly refer to him in my head with…

We continue walking until some of the vegetation retreats, letting us spread out some. Something catches Daryl's eye and he starts looking around at the ground, and at the leaves, it's almost like… he's tracking, he waves his finger around a fallen tree and a bunch of footprints, "People 've been 'round here. Went that way." He nods ahead, then he takes the lead, and we all watch him with intrigue.

"You think it's some of our people?" I look at Carl hopefully.

Carl tightens his jaw, "I dunno."

I want to believe, that these are the tracks of our people, and that we'll find them, so we can all be whole again. I want to be whole again.

"Look at that," Daryl stops, pointing a track on the ground, "Them's kid's shoes. Cowboy boots by the look a 'em."

_Lizzie had boots like that… _

"Just one set of tracks?" Rick speaks up. Carl and I look at each other dubiously.

"Nah, nah," Daryl shakes his head, "I'd noticed the two other tracks, a man and woman, judgin' by the feet. But the kid, I guess that sparked a real point of interest." He squints his eyes and follows the tracks further, "There's two kids that were here. They 'ere with the man and the woman, travellin' a group, family maybe."

"Could it be some of our people?" Michonne speaks the question on my mind.

Daryl shrugs, "Could be, could be anyone though. Ain't no guarantee they're ours."

The reek of walker fills my nose, I look ahead and I find the source, there's a crushed walker that lies dead- for real dead, like someone got it in the brain like you're supposed to.

I frown. No, these couldn't have been Lizzie's tracks, whoever passed by here took out that walker and Lizzie would've thrown an absolute fit over killing the walker. She was strange that way.

My stomach wrenches with regret, how dare I hope, only to have it torn apart in front of me like a walker does to your friends and family.

We follow the tracks past the former walker, there's a lot of tracks around that area, which makes Daryl think it wasn't just passed by once. The tracks that Daryl believes are a child's are muddled because they have been run over a couple times. They trace back to a spot where the vegetation separates, Daryl peels it back and lets everyone go through. We walk through vegetation for a while, pressing it back so branches don't smack us in the face. Then we get past it and we've opened up to a nice little grove.

Trees surrounding a near clearing, a couple trees around here and there. There's a house in the distance, and maybe a barn, where supplies and animals used to make their domain. Beyond the house is a place where the setting sun glows upon nicely. The tracks lead up to the house and then all around, yes people were here, and they came out. There's a barb wire fence surrounding it. Looks like a nice place to hole up for the night if you ask me.

I look around more and I see the bodies of walkers laying around. Echoes of the past, shadows of the events that took place here. There's one that hangs dead, partially inside the fence, like it was trying to get at one of the house's residents. I guess they got away. More walkers lie past that, remnants of a battle fought, one side armed with teeth and hunger, the other side armed with hunger and bullets. I squeeze Carl's hand he squeezes back. I stand close to him now and I'm relieved my throat doesn't close up or my body is a ridiculous kind of tense.

Rick grabs a stake that holds the fence up, he moves it away from another stake and room opens up so we can walk the inner yard. There isn't any sign of life in the house, whoever was here before isn't here now. Any hope of finding our people diminishes and my heart sinks. We walk towards the house and then that's when I notice them.

The graves. There are four. I walk up to them and stop. Carl comes with me, but the adults move on, saying they're going to make sure the house is clear. Two graves have crosses as headstones , but one has brass baby shoes hanging off. That grave is small, very small. Judith small. But I know it's not Judith because Judith died at the prison, right? The other two graves are different from the first. The dirt mound over them is distinctly fresher, and they are bigger. Not adult big, no they were not given that grace. These are the graves of children. Younger than me I'd say, because I'm not a particularly tall teenager.

Carl stammers for a moment, "These… these are…"

"Kids graves," I swallow roughly, my breathing waivers for a second, "I certainly wouldn't fit in a grave that size."

Carl's head snaps towards me, "Don't say things like that."

"I just-"

He interrupts me, "Just don't." his tone is final and I let it drop.

"Com' on," Daryl waves us towards the house, "House is clear, iz gettin' dark, don't wanna be out here when them walkers come out." So we hustle inside. It's a cozy house the living room and the kitchen melt together, there's a wooden table and chairs in between the two rooms. There's a crib pressed against a wall next to a brown couch covered in dusty pillows. There's a coffee table in front of the couch and then next to that is a recliner. They all face a fireplace that I'm sure will glow warm light soon, especially on a night like tonight.

Pecan shells litter the table, and an abandoned nut cracker lies with it. A lantern sits at the end of the table, anxiously waiting to bring light again. There's a doll left on the floor, my heart catches in my throat. I press my shoulder against Carl's; his head rests against mine in a comforting gesture. And I feel the tension in my chest for the first time all day. _Goddammit! You were doing so well!_ I don't move though, this how I get past the tension, by pushing myself, not a lot, just enough.

We build a fire up in the fireplace and light up the lamp, Michonne finds a kettle on the stove and boils some water. There's some canned goods stored in a pantry and we eat that night. The meal is warm and so is the fire.

Carl and I sit on the ground, knees touching, right in front of the fire, absorbing the heat it gives off. Michonne and Rick sit at the table, eating and discussing the 'game plan'. Daryl sits in the recliner with aggressively poor posture, eating his share of the dinner, utterly not giving a shit.

"Who do you think was here before?" I ask Carl as I finish up my green peas.

I shrugs, "They're probably dead now, whoever they were."

I frown, why does he always have such a tendency to immediately go to the pessimistic side, "You don't know that." My tone is weak and it ekes out sliver of hope.

"I bet those tracks of those kids, those are the fresh graves we saw. The doll? It makes sense, the kids died, the adults left. The adults are probably dead now too," Carl shrugs. The depressing thing is, it makes sense. _Why didn't I piece that together? "_I think you're rubbing off on me." Carl jokes. No, he doesn't need me, he's deductive enough on his own.

"Don't matter who was here 'fore. They gone now. We gotta focus on us. I'm gonna go huntin' in the mornin'. Seen some deer 'round, figured I tried 'n catch us some. Some fresh venison 'd be nice." Daryl says, his focus starts on me, but its direction moves to the whole group the longer he goes on.

"Sounds good," Rick nods, "Doors are locked, and I closed the fence back up. I think it's best we all got some rest, we'll probably stay here tomorra. Ain't a point in wasting such a good place."

I swallow my last bite of peas, "But we're still headed to Terminus, right?"

Rick looks at me and inclines his head, "'Course, but it don't hurt to take a day to collect ourselves."

Daryl has his eyes narrowed, then they go to the area rug, "There's somethin' y'all should know."

We all turn our heads to Daryl, "What is it?" Rick is the one to speak, of course he is, Rick is always the voice of the body.

"When I was with Joe and them, they said somethin' 'bout Terminus bein' a lie. And it ain't what they say. Now I know it sounds good and ever'thin', and it's our best shot at findin' the others, but I think we should be car'ful once we start to get close. Stake the place out, make sure it's legit. You got me?"

_I gotchu._

Rick nods for us, and we carry on. I set down my bowl and I stretch out on my back, I stare at the ceiling, Carl joins me in the passivity of watching the fire create dancing shadows. Shadows, I see shadows everywhere. From the walls to the table to the corpses that no longer grown. Shadows are everywhere, whether you're looking or not.


	36. Home

Home. It's one of the most comforting words at least I can think of. It's one of the first words we really learn to recognize. It's where we feel safe and well, at home. Everyone has an image as to what they think of home as. And for me it's before the apocalypse when my family was whole and life was good in a cozy home. I had my own room, with my soft bed and my books. I long for home those nights I sleep under the stars, back aching against the cold dirt. I miss home and the sense of serenity it brought me.

I end up falling asleep on the area rug in that living room. I'm awoken the next morning by stirring all around me. I blink my eyes open and sit up, looking around. The fire went out a while ago. It's real early, the sun hasn't even begun it's journey through the sky. It takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A figure moves towards the door. It's Daryl, he's leaving to go hunt. His crossbow is at his side, he opens the door and then shuts it carefully. I consider lying back down and going back to sleep, but I soon deem it's useless and I push myself to my feet.

My shoulder gives a dull ache, but the pain isn't sharp when I move, so that's good. I look behind me, Carl fell asleep here too. A small smile forms on my face, he's deep asleep, one arm twisted back, hand resting by his head, the other lays across his stomach. His hat is tipped over his face, obscuring his eyes and much of his nose. I shake my head, with a half grin and walk into the kitchen. There isn't much here, but I bet I could collect some pecans, use the nutcracker, yeah that would work. No one else is up yet, and I don't wanna wake anyone, so I just make sure it's easy to access my knife, I grab a pail, and head outside.

The early morning air is cool on my cheeks and a breeze blows the hairs that stray from my braid back. I push my beanie further on my head, trying to keep my ears warm. I walk out towards an area where the tree branches hang low. I start picking pecans and tossing them in the bucket. The sun begins to rise and a ray of sunlight casts itself on the clearing not too far away. I make my way over there, because I've gotten what pecans I can from these branches. The sunlight warms my back and I go back to picking pecans.

The sun's all the way up now, the others are probably awake. I should probably get back, don't want them to worry. So I start heading back when I notice some flowers, they're dying now, wilting. Its yellow not as distinct as it used to be. I stop at look at them for a moment, they're still nice. Like a friendly reminder there is still beauty, and then a cruel reminder that beauty dies. Something catches my eye, all the color leaves my face and I stand there slack-jawed. Blood tinges some of the flowers, crimson on yellow. I clutch the pail in my arms. _Turn around right now, young lady. Don't look, don't look._ I turn stiffly on my heels and walk back. There's something wrong with this place, something very wrong happened here.

I walk as quickly as my stiff legs will let me up to the house. As I walk up, I hear laughing, I open the door and Carl and Michonne are having a conversation about the over-sized shirt she's wearing.

"Hey," Carl looks over at me, "there you are! Where were you?"

I lift the bucket of pecans in response, my mouth too dry to answer. Carl's expression intensifies as he looks at me, "Is everything alright. Did you run into anything?" his eyes narrow and he steps towards me, Michonne tilts her head with interest.

"No," I shake my head, "everything's fine." I fake a smile. Carl's hand rests gently on my arm and he still looks unconvinced.

I shake my head slightly, shaking myself out from my trance, "Come on," I grab his hand, "I can't crack all these pecans myself."

I set the pail on the table, brushing off the broken shells from before into my hand. I toss them into an abandoned trash can. _There buddy, there's some garbage for you to love. _

_What the hell am I doing with my life._

I grab a bowl from a cabinet and then sit down next to Carl, he's already cracked a couple open. He drops the nuts in the bowl and continues, leaving the shells on the table. I get up and find another nutcracker in a utensils drawer. I plop down next to him and we crack pecans and don't really talk much. He just grins at me and I smile back, because when he smiles it's kinda hard not to, and I don't want him to think I'm bothered by anything.

Michonne comes over, her shirt is tied back now so it's more fitting, she sits in the other seat next to me, "You know, it wasn't too smart, going out on your own like that." her tone is vaguely scolding, and I lower my head for a moment.

"Sorry," I make myself pick up my head, "I just woke up really early and figured picking pecans was a helpful way to kill time."

Michonne nods in understanding, "Just don't do it again, ok? It's a dangerous world out there."

I consider protesting, _I had my knife!_ But it won't do me any good, so I just grab another pecan and crack it. Michonne smacks the table suddenly, my shoulders jolt and I look over at her, Carl does the same, "I know what we can do with these." she smiles, exposing her bright teeth.

"What?" Carl's brow furrows with interest, he cocks his head and his face looks remotely of that to a puppy dog's and I'm sorry, it's adorable.

Michonne stands up and goes digging through the pantry, she finds a bag of sugar, she pulls it out and sets it on the table, she then goes through the kitchen tools until she finds a baking pan. I look at the pecans, then the pan, then the sugar, then the natural gas oven.

"Candied pecans?" I ask

Michonne grins at me, "Good job, you pick up quickly. Have you ever made them?" she lifts a dark eyebrow at me

I shake my head, shrugging, "It just made sense."

"I made them once with-" she catches herself and looks down, her lips draw to a thin line, "Never mind, just... I've made them. Now, Carl you finish shelling them, Sam, you dunk the shelled pecans in the sugar and then place them on this tray. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," Carl says with a mocking tone, but he goes back to shelling anyways. I start doing as per Michonne's instructions and Michonne gets the oven to warm up. Once we're done, I take the tray over to Michonne and she pops it in the oven. I turn around to walk back to the table, and I notice Rick in the entryway to the living room. He nods at Carl and I as he walks past, we keep walking back to the table. I put a hand on the chair, so I can pull it back to sit in, when Rick speaks up.

"Why don't you kids go into another room for a minute, find a real room to sleep," Rick nods his head towards the entryway from which he came. Carl and I exchange glances, then he shrugs and we go find a bedroom. I pick up my bag on the way, I really could stand to change clothes, Carl does the same. We find a bedroom at the end of the hall that doesn't appear to be occupied. It's a similar style to the rest of the house as far as I've seen. Very old fashioned and country. The bed frame is wooden with a headrest and a foot rest. Carl tosses his bag on the bed and I excuse myself to go find a bathroom.

I shut the door behind me and walk down the hall. There's one two doors down on the left, I set my bag down on the sink area, I pull the braid out of my hair and take off my beanie. I take a look in the mirror and shut the door. My face is covered in dirt and there's a faint scratch on my cheek. It bled at one point, but it's closed up now. My hair is beyond greasy, and it's clumped together with tangles and grease. My jacket is as ragged as ever and it's got grass and dirt stains on it now along with the blood stains. I pull it off, careful around my left shoulder. We're here for a day, maybe I can clean it up some. My next layer is the flannel shirt, it's dirty too. Well really, if I'm wearing it, it's got some dirt on it and reeks of B.O., lack of bathing, it'll do that. My flannel sleeves aren't rolled up and the undone cuffs hang past my fingertips, the shirt is tucked in loosely to my jeans, but is as baggy as ever. There's blood staining the left shoulder from times I haven't been so careful, I remove that too. I also take off the long sleeve shirt and the sweat stained tank top.

Now all I'm left with is my exposed torso, I don't like it. My ribs are too prominent, and there's the bandage on my shoulder, a constant reminder. I just generally don't favor my figure. I look down at my bag and dig through the clothes I found yesterday. I find a soft, dark green t-shirt and slip it over my head, it actually fits me, which is nice for once. I grab a denim button down shirt with long sleeves. It's a little loose, but not to the point where it will never fit. I find this soft fleecy vest thing that zips and has pockets, I slip that on too. God it's soft. I also change out my ripped jeans for a pair of whitewashed ones. I put my hair in a low side ponytail and stick my beanie over it, in hopes of minimizing the disgusting appearance. I push my old clothes back into the bag and zip it up. I shoulder the pack and walk back towards the room Carl and I are staying in.

I open up the door to find Carl still changing, he's wearing cargo pants and his mismatching shoes poke out from under the pants, that are a little on the long side. But he's not wearing a shirt. I stand there, paralyzed, hand still on the door knob, unable to even move my eyes, my mouth is slightly open. Do I shut the door and give him privacy, do I stay? My heart thumps nervously in my chest. His back is turned to me, he might even not know I'm here. Something between an 'um' and a cough escapes my mouth. Carl turns around quickly, and I catch a glimpse at the shot wound again. I don't feel the usual pain or tension in my chest that I've almost become accustomed to these days.

"Nice back," I comment, remembering what he said when he watched me change. _Lucky duck, he's wearing pants. I mean, unlucky for me._

_Wait, what? _

_I did not just think that!_

_Sam! _

He rolls his eyes and continues about his business. Just as he turns around, I catch the red in his cheeks come out, and I laugh a little.

"You like this?" he turns around so I can see him completely without his shirt. There's a t-shirt balled up in his hand. Whatever he was going for, isn't really working, because he's blushing a lot. I bite my bottom lip a little, trying to contain more laughter.

_Yes, I like it a lot. Thanks for asking. I could live with shirtless Carl._

I meekly shrug, "Meh."

He deadpans and rolls his eyes again. I smirk so he knows I'm teasing, he shakes his head and puts his shirt on. It takes me a moment to realize it's color, dark green. I look at him, then down at _my_ dark green t-shirt. _Was this planned? I certainly think not..._

I look at him and shrug, "I wear it better." Carl chuckles and nods with too much enthusiasm for it to be simple agreement. I raise my eyebrows at him, popping a hip and stuffing my hands in the pockets of my fluffy vest, I give him a look that says 'what did you say'. This makes him blush more. He puts on his hoodie, and then his hat. I look around the room, pretty simple layout, bed, nightstand, dresser, and my personal favorite, bookshelf.

"Home sweet home, huh?" Carl looks around and then back at me

"We're only here for a day," I remind him, I don't want to get settled in here. Bad things have happened here, very bad things.

Carl narrows his eyes slightly, trying to understand my apprehension, "I mean, Daryl said Terminus was bad news, maybe this place-"

"Daryl heard that from Joe's group Carl, you know the people that tried to rape us!" I spit out, my heart sinks and instantly regret at what I've said. _Why did I bring that up? Stupid Sam, stupid, stupid Sam._

Carl falters for a moment, then he shakes his head, "Come on, let's get back. Bet the pecans are almost done anyway." he grinds his jaw and walks past me, he balls his hands up into fists and then uncurls them. The process repeats and I walk behind him warily. _Goddammit Sam! You had to open your big mouth!_

Carl sits down at the table, it's clear he's trying to calm down.

"Carl," I sit down next to him, speaking quietly, I don't want to alarm Rick and Michonne, "I didn't mean-"

"I know," he blinks hard, but he doesn't look at me, "I.. just... give me a minute, ok?" he sounds frantic. I start to reach for him and he flinches away, shaking his head, "A minute." he repeats. I nod and look away.

I fiddle with my thumbs under the table, _why did I say that? Why? Why? Why?_

"Hey kids," Michonne speaks up, there's a cautious tone in her voice, she can definitely tell something's not quite right, "I think the pecans are ready." I hear the oven creak open and I look up, turning around. My eyes flit to Carl, he looks mostly better, but that could be a lie for Michonne.

"They look good." Michonne looks over at us, trying to bait us. _Very sneaky Michonne, but your sugary temptations won't work on us!_

_Oh who am I kidding_. I get up and walk to the tray that Michonne set on top of the oven.

"Careful, they're hot," Michonne warns

I pull my hand back and I hear Carl's footsteps behind me.

"Smells like home," Carl mumbles

"You really remember what your home smelled like?" I turn around._ I feel like I'm asking a dumb question._

_Definitely asking a dumb question._

"No," he shakes his head, "But I'm gonna pretend it did. Because I like it."

"Do you miss your home?" I ask him, I reach for a pecan, it's warm, but not too hot.

Carl swallows anxiously, "Yeah. You?" he doesn't elaborate, but that's ok, I don't know if I could either. Maybe someday, when we don't have anyone else around.

"Yeah," I nod, "But I've found a new one since then. I found the prison, and I still think I'll find another. I don't think the place matters for a home, I just think it's the people you're with."


	37. Holes

There are holes everywhere. They ruin the wholeness of things and are on the whole not a good thing. People can create these holes, but they can just as easily be repaired. The important thing is to try and not give up hope.

Daryl makes it back much sooner than expected, dragging a deer, with several squirrels hanging from his belt. We decide to hold off eating until we can cook some of the fresh meat up. I offer to help Daryl skin some of the squirrels, to which he chuckles, "Ever skinned a critter 'fore girly?"

_Um, well you see. I'm hungry, and I figure, I can't be that bad..._ I hadn't exactly _had_ to before, but I figured I needed to know, it's a survival skill.

"Sure," I shrug

Daryl narrows his eyes slightly, considering things for a moment. Finally he pops an eyebrow up and tosses me a squirrel, "Try not to hurt yourself."

I stand a little taller, proud that I managed to convince Daryl Dixon, squirrel king, to let me skin a squirrel.

I look at the squirrel in my hands, brown gray fur, dead beady eyes, warm body growing colder by the second, limp, flimsy body sagging in my grasp.

_Cute, little squirrel... _

_Nice squirrel dinner..._

_Oh God, what have I gotten myself into._

I swallow hard, and try not to let my discomfort show. I follow Daryl outside and I watch him as he cuts into his own squirrel. He makes a cut near the base of the tail on the belly side, I pull out my knife and mimic him, trying not to look over and make it obvious I'm just copying what he does. I keep my head angled at the squirrel and watch Daryl out of the corner of my eye. He makes more cuts around its hind leg. He grabs the tail of the squirrel in one hand, he uses his other hand, working his fingers under the skin of the squirrel, trying to separate the meat of the squirrel from the skin. My eyes go to my own squirrel, I copy the cuts he made, careful not to cut too deep. I gulp as I work my fingers under the skin of the squirrel, the fleshy feel of the meat under my fingers is uncomfortable. _Quit being so squeamish! Honestly!_ I manage to work the skin away and I flit my eyes over to Daryl for the next step.

He kicks leaves away from the ground and lays the squirrel, belly up on the ground. He places his heel near the base of the squirrel's tail. He pulls the squirrel by it's hind legs, and in one swift motion the skin is ripped off. He works the skin off of it's front legs, and then continues to pull up until he's at the squirrel's neck. I quickly copy, though my hands are slightly bloodier than his. In a final step Daryl takes his knife and cuts off the head of the squirrel, along with it's arms and feet. I do the same. I hold my now skinned squirrel up and show Daryl. _It could... be worse..._

Daryl chuckles, "Not bad for a first time."

I frown, _was I that obvious?_

"I saw the way you was lookin' at that squirrel," he says in answer and he moves on to his next squirrel, "You wanna keep helpin' or you done?"

_I'm done. Oh dear God yes, please. Done. So, so done._

"I can help if you need it," I offer shyly

Daryl grumbles under his breath, clears his throat, then speaks up, "Nah, run along, I've got this."

"Ok," I mumble, I set my squirrel beside him and go inside.

"So?" Carl walks over to me as I shut the door behind me.

I laugh vaguely and shake my head, "I think it's best we leave the skinning to Daryl." Carl laughs and we walk back into the kitchen- living room area. We each grab a pecan even though Michonne gives us a scolding look. The taste of the pecan is both sweet and salty, eating it is like eating the pudding, that feeling of satisfaction as you eat it.

We sit around the table until Daryl comes in with the skinned and gutted squirrels, he says he's hung the deer up and he'll take care of that later. Michonne roasts the squirrels and soon we're ready to eat. By now the sun has passed it's peak in the sky and my stomach is making noises. We split up the squirrel and pecans evenly and then we try sitting down like real people at the table. Except for Daryl, he leans against the wall, plate in one hand fork in the other, doing as Daryl does.

The squirrel is good, especially now that it's not raw and squishy. Carl inhales his squirrel, _good Lord that boy can eat_. He's chowing down on the last of his pecans, just as I'm finishing my squirrel.

"You gonna eat that?" Carl mumbles, his mouth full of pecans, eyeing my own pecans.

I give him a look that says 'stop right there Grimes, them's my pecans'. Carl rolls his eyes at me, but doesn't press further. After a moment I tighten my lips and slide a pecan in his direction. He gives me a look that says 'I win' and then tosses the candied pecan into his mouth, to which I shake my head and laugh.

"Do we have any idea if the showers here are working?" Michonne asks all of us

I shrug, Carl shrugs, Rick shrugs, Daryl walks over to the sink, flips on the faucet, water comes dribbling out.

"Yup," he says, "Probably hooked up to a well, water not be hot but it's better than nothin'."

"I'd like to clean my jacket if that's not a problem," I speak up, my voice sounds timid and nervous. _Come on Sam, what's the worst they're gonna say? No?_

"Yeah, that'd be ok," Rick nods

"So we all get to shower?" Carl asks enthusiastically, "With like running water?"

Rick chuckles, nodding "Yeah, we all get to shower." his son's excitement is obviously pleasing for him. Carl's still a little off with his dad, I think Carl's taking what his dad did to protect him a little hard.

So after everyone finishes eating, I grab my jacket and Carl is forced to wait before he can shower. The adults get to go first, but they've made a point that_us_ showering_ together_ is not an option. Which I think both of us are ok with, because while we're close to being back to what we used to, there's still some discomfort, and we weren't even at _that_ point before everything happened.

I find some soap and one of those old laundry scrub boards, so I fill up a bucket with water and I head outside, Carl follows me because he hasn't anything better to do. I roll up the sleeves of my denim shirt and I soak my jacket and pour some of the soap into the water, I stir it around with my jacket and then I scrub my jacket against the board.

"Not as good as a Maytag, huh?" Carl comments

I glare at him, there's a smirk on his face, so I know he's teasing, but still. I splash water towards him and he couldn't exactly deflect it, his nose crinkles up and he squints his eyes shut. I laugh and he glares at me. I stick out my tongue at him and he rolls his eyes. I continue scrubbing until the grass and dirt stains are gone and I've gotten rid of as much blood as I can.

I lift it up for Carl to see, "That look better?" I ask

His voice catches in his throat for a moment and his eyes stray to the left shoulder of the jacket, the blood may be gone, but the hole still remains. He catches my worried looks and shakes head, "Oh yeah, looks great." but there isn't power to back up his words.

I smile like I believe him, "Awesome! Let's head back in then, it's starting to get chilly. But first, I'll hang this up to dry." there's actually a clothes line here, so, I pin up my jacket and then we head back inside. I look at him and grab his hand, lacing my fingers through his. He gives me a real smile, obviously pleased at my gesture of affection.

He leans towards me like he's about to kiss my cheek, but before I can stop myself, my body flinches and Carl pulls away.

"Sorry," I mumble

"'S fine." Carl looks at the ground

I want to tell him that it's not, but we'll just go in circles and it'll be pointless, "Ok," I kick the leaves as we walk.

Something twists inside me, and suddenly I feel the need to speak out. My feet freeze and I turn to him, "We can't do this Carl."

His eyes widen quickly in alarm, "Do what?"

"Pretend things are ok and lie to each other. It's not worth it, it's doing more bad than good. I see the truth, and I know you do too. All it does is create holes, holes that are hard to patch. I don't want that. So please, just... be honest." I blink up at him, scared I didn't say the right words

He bites his tongue and nods at me, "Ok."

Man, does he have a way with words.

We go back into the house and just chill, Daryl and Michonne have already taken their showers and are back in the living room. I must admit it's strange to see Daryl Dixon without greasy hair and have a certain odor about him.

"Your dad's in the shower, he should be out soon," Michonne tells Carl. Carl nods, but it's like he doesn't really care.

I gnaw on my bottom lip, then I look at Carl, "Hey let's go check out that bookshelf we saw, maybe, if you're good I'll read to ya later." I wink at him, with a teasing tone in my voice. He grins and bumps me with his hip, a little on the hard side, and I'm not prepared, so it sends me stumbling a couple inches.

"Careful," Carl's eyebrow lift playfully, and I shove him back with my hip harder. I send him stumbling a good foot and I let out a real laugh. Carl glares at me and starts to move towards me when Daryl clears his throat. And both of us duck our heads and walk back to the room we're staying in.

Carl closes the door and I lean up and sneak a peck on his cheek. For a moment my throat closes up and my stomach tenses up and I'm scared I'm gonna puke, but it passes when I see the look on Carl's face. Then my cheeks are red and it's hard to look at him. But I manage and then I know that yes, we can patch the holes.


	38. Conflict

Conflict is part of human nature. We as humans, face conflict. Whether it be like before, where there were threats of nuclear war and terrorism and the like. Or now, when our conflict is flesh-eating monsters that defy most death logic. But that's only half of it, we also face inner conflict, with ourselves as naturally we make mistakes and then suffer consequentially often emotionally within ourselves. You question yourself a lot of the time which also sort of inner conflict, because part of your mind says _'Dude you know that color pink? It's not that bad_' and then the majority of your mind is like_ 'Dude. What. The. Hell. is wrong with you? What drugs are you on? Pink is gross. GTFO.'_ and voilà inner conflict. Of course, a lot of the time it's a little more... deep than that. But the point stands. Conflict is human, it's part of us, and it shapes us as a result.

Carl leaves to go take his shower, which gives me time to do whatever the hell I want to. And as could be expected, I read. I lay on my stomach, book stretched out in front of me and I start _13 Reasons Why_. The concept itself I find to be quite interesting, but Carl's right, it is a little girly for my taste. Still, I read it, because I'm stubborn and I have hopes.

I read for however long, until Carl comes back, still wearing the dark green t-shirt and cargo pants, his hair has that towel dried look and is almost black from being wet. I look up from my book, and he walks over and lays next to me on the bed in a similar fashion. He peeks at what I'm reading and he lets out a groan.

"I can't believe you,"

"What?" I turn to him, protesting.

"You actually got that book?" he complains

"I'm not saying you have to read it," I shrug

"Good," he rolls his eyes, smirking at me. I roll my eyes back, and I push myself up and sit back on my heels.

"I'm gonna go shower now," I extend my thumb towards the door and Carl nods. I push myself off the bed and grab my bag. I walk to the bathroom and close the door behind me. _God, my first shower since the prison_. It's been too long. But really, this is to be expected, it _is_ the zombie apocalypse and we have greater things to worry about than personal hygiene. I walk over to the shower and turn the faucet, water starts as a dribble from the shower head, but the further I turn the faucet, the more it picks up. Give that a chance to do whatever warming up it can.

I remove my beanie and shake my hair out of the ponytail, I kick out of my Docs and then remove my socks. I strip down until the only thing I have on is the bandage on my shoulder. I decide it would be a good idea to take that off too. So for the first time in a while I get a look at my shoulder. The wound has scabbed over, dried blood around the edges and stick roughly to my skin. The skin is growing back together, it's a little gross, but nothing is horribly discolored, or otherwise fear inducing. I should be fine.

I step into the shower and the water is actually lukewarm, which is surprising, but nice. It pounds against my head, sticking my hair against my skin and weighing it down at the same time. When the water hits my shoulder it stings, but not terribly. There's actually soap and shampoo and conditioner and all that good stuff in this shower. I scrub the dirt off of my body and replace it with soap bubbles and the fragrance of lavender. I scrub out the grease and grime, and whatever the hell else is in my hair, and replace it with whatever 'waterfall mist' smells like. All I know is that it's certainly better than walker smell. I clean off my face, let it be noted that apocalypse plus puberty don't turn out too well when it comes to your face. Acne. Acne everywhere. Soon the water loses its lukewarm quality and I begin to shiver. I turn off the shower and I dry off. I feel fresh and clean and new. I squeeze as much water as I can out of my hair, and let it be the way it is. I put on my undergarments and my whitewashed jeans and then call for Michonne. I need someone else to come dress this stupid shoulder.

Michonne comes quicker than was necessary, "What's wrong?" she throws open the door of the bathroom.

I look at the linoleum floor, embarrassed that I caused such a hassle, "I just needed someone took bandage up my shoulder." I mumble

"Oh," she nods, relieved, "I'll go get our stuff and I'll be right back, ok?" Michonne says, I nod. She's back a moment later with alcohol and the bandaging, she gives the wound a good rub down, making sure it's clean and then wraps it and we're done. I quickly put on my t-shirt and Michonne leaves to go about her business. I put my denim shirt back on, then the vest. I change my socks and then I lace up my Doc Martens and I grab my beanie. I'm set.

I shoulder my bag that I actually only needed for socks, which upon retrospect was a stupid reason to take along my whole bag. I go back into the room to find Carl with his nose stuck in a book. Not just any book mind you, _13 Reasons Why_. I snort and Carl looks up, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I smirk and lift an eyebrow at him.

"Girly, huh?" I contain barely contain my laughter

Carl opens his mouth, to argue whatever meager point he had about the legitimacy of him reading this book, but then closes it. Then opens it again, then closes it. Finally, on the third try of opening his mouth, he finds words, "I was bored, and it was here, and I wanted to figure out what was so great about it anyways." he frowns and I crack up.

I walk over next to him and sit beside him, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," he grumbles unhappily, "it was stupid as far as I read."

"It was pretty dumb," I admit, shrugging, "Maybe it's just that people's issues before, seem ridiculous now. I'm sure, given different circumstances I'd enjoy it more."

"So I was right?" Carl looks at me optimistically

I give him a look and he chuckles.

"Move over," I push him slightly, and Carl scoots over, I drop my bag and I dig out a different book. It's a bit of a juvenile book, but honestly I couldn't care less.

"The Mouse and the Motorcycle?" Carl reads, clearly unimpressed.

"Come on," I nudge him with my elbow, lying down next to him so that our sides are touching, from shoulder to hip. It takes me a moment to adjust and I can feel Carl looking at me, making sure I'm alright. I come out of it and he goes back to normal.

"It just seems a bit," Carl shrugs, "childish,"

I lift an eyebrow at him, "Have you ever actually read it?"

"I'm a comic book person," Carl explains, as if I hadn't already known

I roll my eyes at him and let out an over dramatic sigh, "Useless," I shake my head at him teasingly.

"One of these days, we're going to read comics together, and then you'll see true art." Carl promises

"Do you think they'll have stuff like that at Terminus?" I ask quietly, I'm not sure how Carl will react.

He turns towards me and sits up, "Sam, how much faith are you putting in this place?" he grits his teeth and his eyes are slightly narrowed, more worried than anything else.

I pause for a moment,_ how much __**do**__ I believe in Terminus? I mean it sounds good. A safe haven? Is there such thing? Yes. There has to be. The prison was. For a long time. It was my safe haven from Woodbury. And Woodbury was my safe haven from the outside. Yet here I am again, in the outside. What if it's like Woodbury? And there's some nut case running the place. But then again, it could be run like the prison, with good people._

"A lot I guess," I finally shrug.

"You don't have a single doubt that it's safe and nothing's up?" Carl looks at me in disbelief

"Well..."

"Sam, please tell me you aren't completely head over heels for the idea of this place," Carl begs

"I'm not! I know that some places look good, but they really aren't. I was part of Woodbury, I know what it's like to be fooled," I shake my head

"Then why are you so eager to leave this place, which we know is good and we know is safe?" Carl demands._ I don't want to argue. I don't want this to divide us. I don't want this_. In a way, I do get where he's coming from. He sees this place as a viable home, a place we could stay. There's pecans and deer and water. We've got each other, what more could we need? But I know.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool, I lower my voice, "Carl, something very bad happened here. And it just kind of freaks me out, ok? And maybe I want to go to this place, because I want more than anything to find the rest of our group. The rest of our family!" my tone squeaks at the end.

"What if we're too late? What if those signs are old and Terminus is overrun?! Huh? Then what happens? Our family, if they honestly believe in this place, wouldn't they just run into yet _another _walker trap? What if they get eaten? What if we do that? What if I got eaten? What if you got eaten? I couldn't live with that Sam. I can't live with that idea in my mind. I don't want to lose you because we were too idiotic and fell for the Terminus trap." Maybe he doesn't mean them this way, maybe he's just desperate and he doesn't know what else to do to make me see things his way. That's what happened to me earlier at least, but his words come out coarse and painful. They make me cringe, is he calling me idiotic? For believing in this place? Certainly not, he can't. Not Carl.

My heart wells up inside of me and I can't look at him, I consider firing mean, hateful words back at him. But I can't. I need to stop. I need to breathe. I sharply turn away from him.

Carl speaks up, and I stop, let him say his piece, "Let's just forget it, ok? I don't want to fight with you."

I nod, pretending I'm ok, "I'll be back, I'm just gonna... I gotta go do some... things..." I get up hastily and leave, shutting the door behind me. I lean against the door and rest the back of my head against it, looking up at the ceiling. _Just take a moment to cool down. _

I walk into the living room area, there's another fire going, and Daryl's got the deer in the kitchen it's hanging from the light fixture, and he's standing there, skinning it. Rick and Michonne aren't in sight.

"You and your little boyfriend have a spat?" Daryl says, not looking away from his job.

I walk towards him, mildly intrigued at the difference of skinning a deer from that of a squirrel.

"You heard?" I pull my lips to a thin line.

"Y'all ain't exactly quiet," Daryl snorts, most of attention still on the deer.

I nod a little, "Daryl?"

"Yeah kid," Daryl gives a tired sigh, like he regrets speaking up in the first place

"What happened to Beth? Where is she now?" I ask quietly,_ the man's got a knife, and I don't know how sensitive a subject that is with him._

"She gone," he cuts the internal organs out sharply. And tosses what he can't use in the pathetic trash can.

"Daryl?" I say again, my voice even more timid if that's possible

"What." he practically spits, knife cutting off the deer's hoof at the elbow.

"You miss her, don't you?" _let it be noted, these may be my last words. I'm sorry, Carl. _

He puts the knife down, and grips the counter, "Yeah, kid. I miss 'er. Anythan' else?" his tone is snippy and makes me a little shaky in my boots.

_Nope, I like knowing that I'm gonna live... so I'm just gonna shut up now. Yeah ok? Bye!_ I turn around, "Nah, I just needed some air for a minute. I'm sorry, Daryl. About Beth."

It hits me, that he doesn't just miss her because they were together for a while and now she's just gone. It's because he loves her. It's deeper than that, it's almost like he's developed some sort of affection for her, but I really can't quite place it. My gut wrenches and I feel stupid for squabbling with Carl over such a dumb subject, I should appreciate what I've got while I've still got it, because you never know when it'll just be..._gone._

I think about Carl's words, 'What if I were eaten.' And it makes me think of Beth and her being gone. _What if Carl was gone?_ That thought is a lot for my head to take in, because I start running through all the things that wouldn't be ok if he was gone. Images come to mind, from him being overcome by walkers after running out of bullets like the guy I saw, an eye being ripped out of his face. Being choked to death, the last thing he sees being someone who can't help him. Me just waking up one morning and him being nowhere. And I don't want him to be _gone._ It's all I can do not to run back into that room and tackle him in a hug.

I walk very stiffly, trying to hold back all of my muscles from making a break for it. I clench my fists at my sides, my mostly bitten nails dig into my palms. I open the door, and he's still on the bed. He's not reading though, he's just lying there, staring at the wall in front of him, "Did you do what needed to be done?" I hate how brittle and almost hostile he is towards me.

An uneven and shaky breath escapes me. And I feel stupid, like seriously stupid. I'm overreacting. But then an image of a Carl's blood spattering the flowers instead of whoever's that was comes to mind, and I have to stop moving.

_Sam. Get your shit together. _

_You're being dumb._

"Sam?" Carl looks at me, probably because I'm making a scene, "Hey, um, earlier I didn't-" he stops and takes another look at me, and it hits me he wasn't looking at my emotional breakdown before, but he is now. "Sam?" I don't want to, but I'm shaking now, trying to keep myself together. I'm not doing a very good job of it. His eyes widen and he gets up, walking over to me.

"I'm sorry," comes out of my mouth, "it was a dumb thing to argue about." my voice cracks, I look at him.

"What... what did you do? What's wrong?" he steps closer. I can't stop myself anymore. I hug him and he's stiff at first, but then he hugs me back.

"Hey, it's ok," he says, rubbing my back.

"I don't want you to be like Beth. I don't want you to be gone." I mumble into his shoulder.

"Sam," he says in disbelief, "what are you talking about?" he pulls back a little bit.

I have to take a deep breath, so I just don't end up losing it. I don't want him to see that insanity, he doesn't need to see it. He can't see it.

"I was talking to Daryl," I start out._ Ok, not bad, you made it through one sentence._

Carl nods.

"And I asked about Beth." _good, another sentence._

"He said she was just gone." I'm starting to fall apart. _Uh oh, keep it together. Keep it together_. "And I started thinking about what would happen if you were gone because you were talking about getting eaten. And I don't want that Carl. That scares me. I don't want that for either of us." _Ok. I finished. Not my best, certainly not my best. _

_You're such an idiot._

_He probably thinks you're a stupid, clingy idiot._

"Sam," he starts, "I didn't mean what I said earlier. It just came out and I'm sorry. I really am honest to God sorry. I didn't mean for you to get upset and-" he stops and shakes his head, the teeniest, itty-bitty smirk curls out of the left side of his mouth, "I'm not gonna 'be gone'. I gotta stick around, remember? Who else are you gonna read to? Who else is gonna call you bookworm, and tease you about your book fetish?" he smirks, poking me in the side. My shoulders flinch up and Carl laughs at my reaction.

"I don't have a fetish!" I protest. A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. His grin makes me feel warm inside and the pain and the fear disappear like they were never there.

"Sure, ok," he teases, and I hug him again. There's no tension and I'm relieved.

"You're cute when you're worried," he jokes. I pull away and I glare at him. Freaking Carl. I may feel conflicted on a lot of things, but he is not one of them.


	39. Alive

I think being alive is one of the greatest gifts. There's a clear distinction between living, and being alive. Or at least for me there is. Living is being animate, being there, just getting by. Walkers... to an extent... are living. They are animate, they get by. But they aren't alive. They don't get to enjoy the warmth of holding a loved one's hand. Or the joy that comes with eating chocolate pudding. They don't think, they don't do anything but eat and go after their food. They don't feel. I think that's another part of being alive. You get to feel, you get to emote. Being alive is special and at least I think we should be thankful for it, not having to walk around brain dead and eating flesh.

The next morning I wake up at about dawn, I feel Carl's warm breathe against my neck, it blows a couple stray hairs against my ear and vaguely tickles. Last night I made the decision to let myself sleep close to Carl like I used to. I'm not gonna lie, it was nice, and I missed it more than I realized.

I'm turned on my side and Carl's arm are wrapped around my waist, keeping me close. My hands press against his and I lie there, staring at the wall for a minute, just enjoying this. Just enjoying being alive.

It takes me a minute to realize we're leaving today, or at least I hope we will. Excitement sparks in my chest.

I push myself into the sitting up position and Carl stirs, he grumbles unintelligible things and his messy hair covers up his eyes. It's a big fluffy messy this morning. He pushes himself up by his elbows and rubs the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Good morning," I can't hide the grin that forms on my face at the sight of this sleepy, groggy Carl.

He just glares halfheartedly at me, which makes me smile even more.

"Come on, the others are probably up, we need to get a move on." I remind him. I push myself onto my knees and crawl off the bed. I lace up my Docs and slip an over-sized, soft, grayish-blue knit sweater over my green T-shirt. I slip my beanie on and make sure everything is in my bag. I'm ready to go before Carl even gets out of bed.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning," Carl comments, his voice even deeper than usual, it's heavy with sleep.

"He speaks!" I joke, throwing my arms in the air with mock celebration.

He glares at me again and I toss his sweatshirt at him. He catches it and puts it on. He reaches down for his hat and firmly places it on his head. He kicks his legs over the side of the bed and puts on his shoes. I wait eagerly, by the door rocking back and forth on my feet.

Finally Carl grabs his bag and I throw open the door and walk out into the living room area. Over in the kitchen Daryl is cutting up the deer meat he cooked last night. Wrapping it so we have food on the road, for a bit at least. Rick and Michonne are talking at the table, and look up after a moment, noticing our presence.

Rick coughs a bit, clearing his throat, Daryl's eyes move up for a moment, but he doesn't acknowledge us, they just move back down, focused on chopping.

"We'll get on the road as soon as Daryl finishes up, why don't y'all finish off the pecans? Get somethin' in your systems before we head out."

Carl nods at the ground, not eager to look at his dad, I look at Rick and Michonne. Something doesn't feel right, enough for me to be compelled to speak up, "Shouldn't y'all have some too? Y'all need the energy just as much as we do."

Michonne gives me a reassuring smile, "We'll be fine, you kids eat."

"I'm fine," Carl shrugs and I cut him a glance.

"Me too. We'll need them later probably anyway." I lie. My stomach grumbles in protest. I've been hungrier, I'm fine, this is to hopefully prevent being that hungry again.

I excuse myself to grab my jacket off the clothesline. It's dry now, it definitely looks better than it did before I washed it. I drop my bag and slip the jacket on. I pick my bag back up and go back inside, by that time we're ready to go.

Daryl and Rick take their usual lead, Michonne in the middle, and Carl and I bringing up the rear. A sense of relief over comes me as we take to the tracks and leave the grove house behind.

"We should reach Terminus before sundown tomorra," Rick says, turning back to face us. We've been walking along the tracks for a couple hours now, "If we're lucky we'll walk through a town, there might be another sign there. Maybe a place to sleep, if we're lucky more food." yes, we could always use more food.

Carl looks up from the rails, his hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, asks towards the adults, "When we get there, are we gonna tell 'em?"

Michonne looks back, slowing her pace, "Tell 'em what?"

Carl clears his throat and then look at Michonne, "Everything that's happened to us. All the stuff we've done."

_No_. Is the first answer that pops into my head, "Dad didn't."

Carl's head whirls towards me, "What?"

_Great, what have I gotten myself into_, "When we came to the prison, we told y'all what Rick asked. Nothing more, unless Dad or I felt complied to share."

"Oh," is all Carl says, "Are we gonna tell 'em the truth?"

"We're gonna tell 'em who we are." Rick explains

"But how do you say that?" the distress in Carl's tone palpable, "I mean, who are we?"

That's an excellent question, really it is if you think about it. We're people, who've done things we're not proud of. But we do them for survival. We've been through hell and back. We've lost and gained so much. But how does that define us as people? Haven't we all been through those things?

But Rick doesn't get the opportunity to answer the question because the moans of a walker emerge along with its limping, dead, bloody body in tow.

Carl and Rick draw their guns and Michonne pulls out her katana. I pull out my knife, but none of that is necessary because Daryl shoots the ugly thing right in between the eyes with his crossbow. The walker falls to the ground and Daryl bends down, ripping out the arrow from the skull. There's a sickening '**SHLUCK**' and my gut churns, I squeeze the hilt of my knife and put it back where it belongs.

We're back on the road and Carl turns to me, "So what _don't_ I know about you?" I guess maybe my comment took more of an effect on him than I realized.

I shrug.

"Oh come on, I always tell you stories about me, what about you? You read all those stories, don't you have any of your own?" Carl pushes, his hand slips out of his sweatshirt pocket and steals one of mine from my jacket pocket. His hand is sweaty, probably from spending all that time in the sweatshirt, but I don't let go.

My expression twists around as I think, but I just shrug again, "I'm just not that interesting."

"I'm not asking for interesting," Carl shrugs

"You only let me read interesting stories to you," I reason.

"Well it's about you, so that makes me interested," Carl counters. I smile a little and shake my head at him, "tell me about your family."

_Ok, simple enough I guess_, "I had my dad," I'm starting to choke up, memories are flooding in too fast, "and my mom and my brother, Noah." I spit out quickly. I make myself focus on the rails,_ only the rails._ _Don't think about them. Don't think._

"Oh," Carl says after a moment, then I realize he wanted me to tell more than just their names. _I'm not sure if I can do that._

"You wanna know how they died, don't you?" I don't look up at him.

"No! No, I mean, not unless you wanna tell me. I get why you wouldn't wanna..." he trails off.

In life you have two ways to look at things, you can look at all the good things that have happened in your life, and make being alive worthwhile. Or you can look at all the sad things that make you wish you weren't alive.

So I decide not to tell the sad things, I look over at Carl, "Well Noah was a lot like you, he liked comic books and super heroes. He absolutely hated the beach, which was funny because we went there every single summer. My mom and I didn't have too much in common, other than our love for books. She wanted me to be just like her and to wear dresses and to be a perfect little lady. Because that's what she did, wore dresses near every day, and always sat with her best posture. She didn't care much for science fiction or fantasy movies, I got to enjoy those with my dad. He was cool, he absolutely loved sports and food. He loved my mom's cooking, which I liked too, we all did. She was a great cook, that's something else I never quite picked up on," I laughed. Carl's eyes are bright looking at me and he's grinning.

"They sound great," he gives my hand a squeeze and I nod in response. It's not quite as painful talking about them this way, because I can kind of pretend they're still here.

I don't ask him about his family, because I already know about his mom and Judith, and Rick is still here.

He speaks up again, "What about you though. You can't tell me for 12 years you sat inside reading books, what else did you enjoy?"

I smirk at the idea,_ let's give him one out of left field, shall we_, "Boogie-boarding."

Carl physically stops and looks me in the eye, "What?" it's like he's trying not to laugh.

"You heard me," I scoff

"You boogie-boarded? Like on the ocean?" Carl's grinning now

I nod at him, "What?"

He just looks at me and shakes his head in disbelief, "I just... it's unexpected. That's all." he meekly shrugs, the smile still wide on his face, his eyes are soft as they look at me. I get all blushy and I look away. He bumps me with his shoulder and I bump him back. We don't talk anymore, but I don't mind, sometimes it's nicer this way.

The sun has passed its peak and we're approaching a railroad crossing ahead. Right away, my nose picks up the scent of dead walker. My nose crinkles and the others have similar reactions, but Daryl pulls out his crossbow just in case. We walk faster, and my eyes notice the red painted against the small white building. I squint my eyes and pick up my pace, I drop Carl's hand.

_GLENN_

_GO TO TERMINUS_

_MAGGIE_

For a moment I'm not the one who controls my actions. I sprint for the lettering. I hear footsteps pick up after me.

"It's Maggie!" I try not to shout, I wait until they're all close enough for them to hear me.

Rick nods, "It's not fresh, but it's somethin'."

I look at Carl, _that big doubter. Doubty McDoubter pants._

_Ok Sam, now you're just being dumb._

I flash my eyebrows up at him. Almost gloating, but not quite. He just rolls his eyes at me.

We continue down the tracks, there's a little more spring in my step. _Yes, Terminus will be a good thing. There are others that are alive, and they are headed to Terminus. Maggie's no idiot. It's ok to believe in Terminus._

Carl's taken to holding my hand again and he seems a little less put out. He keeps looking over at me and sometimes I look back, but he doesn't hold the eye contact for very long. And then it's back to the drawing board where we just stare ahead, wondering what's next.

By the time the sun begins to hide behind the tree line ahead, we've past another sign Maggie left, and I see buildings. A town, we've found a town. Perfect.

We pick up our pace and then spread out around the first building we see. It's a large brick one, black awnings cover the open, useless doors. Daryl, Carl, and I head around to the back of the building, to scout out any walkers while Rick and Michonne check out the inside of the building. There's a circle of cars, with walkers lying dead sporadically, some in piles, some just here and there. There's one, still alive, but it's underneath a pile of three more, its limbs rendered useless under the dead weight. Daryl shoots it in the head to put it out of its misery. A quick yank of the arrow and it's back in his crossbow, ready to take down it's next victim. Daryl hops over the hood of one of the cars in the circle, while Carl and I squeeze through between two of the cars. In the middle of the circle is a pole that's sharp-ish on one end, stained in black blood, and there's a No Parking sign where you can't see half of the No Parking because it's covered in so much blood and guts.

Carl immediately flocks to the sign, he picks up, judging its weight. Which I assumed would be pretty heavy, but Carl looks to handle pretty well. Daryl scouts around the cars for anymore stray walkers and I notice a fallen shattered window in front of the building. I look back to Carl and he's swinging the No Parking sign around like it's a light saber. I give him a bored look, with just a touch of 'what the hell are you doing'. I manage to catch his eye. He pauses for a moment, mid swoosh, his mouth is even open. He must have been making the noises. I lift a single eyebrow and he blushes, putting down the sign slowly. I smile and roll my eyes.

"C'mon," Daryl nods at us to follow him to the other side of the building. I follow him and Carl brings up the rear. Daryl lifts his hand back towards us, signaling for us to hold up. I unsheathe my knife and the cold hilt sits in the palm of my hand, my fingers clench tightly around the knife, and I raise my arm, prepared to strike. I hear the click of the safety going to the off position behind me. Daryl peeks his head around the corner, then he takes a step out, I step forward and I watch him scan the area with the crossbow pointed. He gives us the all clear and we proceed to enter the building.

The first floor is scattered with miscellaneous items, there's stacks of boxes, and stacks of paper and stacks of filled sacks. Wooden support beams stretch up to the ceiling and are scattered throughout the floor. In the center is a large wooden staircase that basically beckons us to skip the bland disappointment of this floor for the unknown possibilities of the next. We ascend the staircase. Boy, were we lied to. This floor is even more disappointing than the last. This floor is a near barren loft. A couple planks of painted wood are propped up against the brick wall. I notice one of the window panels is missing, that must be where the one down below came from.

"Ain't got no fancy beds tonight," Daryl commented, turning his head towards Carl and me.

"Nope," I shake my head in agreement

"We'll make do," Carl insists

I notice something else that this room lacks, and I hear noise below my feet.

"Rick?" Daryl calls

"Michonne?" I chime in

"Down here!" Rick calls in response.

We drop our bags and head downstairs. They're behind the stairs, going through the supplies, seeing if there's anything useful, they've obviously already made the run through to see if there's any walkers lurking around.

"There's some oats here, and a cast iron pot, we start a fire and boil some water we could have some oatmeal with our deer. Throw them pecans in the oatmeal. We'll have a good meal, help us get through to Terminus." Rick says. We all nod and we start doing our own jobs. Rick tells me to come with him to collect some wood, I find it a bit strange he doesn't ask his son to do the job, but I think that he senses Carl's reluctance too.

We head out back towards the trees and into the forest, I've put away my knife for now because this is a two hands job.

For the longest time, there isn't much noise beyond the crunch of leaves beneath our feet and the occasional bird or insect call. Rick bends down to grab a thick branch, and I've already got a few smaller ones in my arms, "So you like my son?" he stands back up, towering over me. With his unshaven face, raspy, deep voice, and dark circles under his eyes, he's a bit of a scary man. The quickly fading light is no help either. He's not even trying to be particularly menacing or threatening, he's just asking a question.

_Well. Here it is, the one thing I've been subconsciously dreading since Rick and Michonne caught us sleeping together._

I look down and swallow hard, _he ain't gonna bite, it's ok_. I try to reassure myself, "Yes sir."

Rick nods, this was just the beginning, the part he already knew, "He treatin' you alright? You treatin' him alright?"

I nod again, "Yes sir, we're getting along just fine," I let out a little smile, and my cheeks blush bright red. I grab another branch a couple feet away

Rick is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, "Has he told you about Lo- his mother? How she... died?" he's a little choked up and I see pain in his eyes at the mention of his wife.

I nod solemnly, "Yes sir."

Rick nods, pressing his lips together, "He's a good man, Carl. I don't doubt for one second he'll treat you right, but y'all are young, and sometimes young people make bad decisions that they regret, and-"

"No," I stop him, "Carl and I... no sir. We just... no. We're too young for that. I'm too young for that. I don't even know... after those men that night... if either of us..." I trail off. _Oh God. I got dragged all the way out in the woods for the __**sex **__talk! Good lord..._

Rick clears his throat awkwardly, he bends down and grabs some more stick "Good, uhm, that's good. I know that he's still wary of me right now. After all that. So, can you do me a favor and make sure he stays safe, make sure he's ok. Be there for him."

I nod in complete understanding, "Yes sir, I tend to do that already. That's not a problem."

"Thank you, Sam. You're a good kid," Rick tells me. I duck my head at his praise. I nod in response, "I think we've got enough, I think we should head back before the others get worried."

"Yes sir,"

We build the fire and get the water boiling. Michonne fixes dinner and Carl and Daryl roast chunks of venison on sticks they've sharpened from their own collecting. The sun is gone now, and we decide to eat outside beside the fire. It's not too far from the building, so if shit hits the fan, we're close. The early night has me shivering so just before dinner is ready I run inside and go upstairs. I grab the blanket Carl and I share and then I dig through my bag and at the very bottom I find my fingerless gloves. I slip them on to try and warm my hands some and then I run back outside.

Carl and I sit side by side, shoulders touching, blanket draped around each of our outer shoulders as we eat that night. The oatmeal is good, especially with the remaining candied pecans mixed in. The taste of venison is succulent and is one of the best things I've tasted since the pudding house. We've still got over half the deer left, even after eating heartily. It's been a while since I've had a nice full stomach. I forgot what it felt like to be honest. But it's nice to remember. The warm meal, the fire, and the blanket, and Carl all keep me from being cold. After I finish, we just sit there, studying the fire. Carl's arm finds its way around my waist and he pulls me even closer.

I wish we were alone again, because I miss the freedom of being as comfortable as Carl as I wished. Now I have the eyes of his father, Michonne, and Daryl, which might as well be Carl's extended family as close as they all are. And I guess I'm part of it too now.

His head is leaned against mine, I move from my position so I can look at him properly, "Do you believe in it yet?" I ask him, "After all we've seen today?"

He shrugs, "Maybe,"

"They're alive Carl." my tone is not scolding, it's just glee, "Maggie, Glenn, whoever else she got out with, they're alive." I rest my head back against his chest.

I like the way that sounds.

_They're alive. They're alive. We're alive, and they're alive. _And soon, we'll all be alive together.


	40. New Beginning

Everyone needs a new beginning some time. A chance to start over, a chance to refresh. I've had two, well three if you count the start of this whole thing. And I treasure them, they give you a chance to reestablish yourself. Right the wrongs from before. Because now no one knows the things you've done, save the people that join in your new beginning. The most important question when you start over is, what will you do with your new beginning?

As a group, we migrate up to the second floor of the building. Rick stamps out the fire, and Daryl makes sure the building is locked down. He says he'll stay on the first floor to make sure everything stays safe. I doubt he'll sleep tonight. Carl and I find a corner towards the back of the building on the second floor. The building keeps the wind out, but not much else, and tonight's gonna be a cold one.

_We'll just have to cuddle to keep warm. _

_Gosh darn it. Isn't that just unfortunate._

_Wait, what?_

"You gonna be ok?" Carl asks, "Are you gonna be warm enough, or..." he gestures at his dark blue hoodie. We sit, backs against the cold brick wall. The chill seeps through my layers, of clothing and I grip at my sweater sleeves. We aren't that close, yet, just our knees touch as we sit cross-legged, the blanket spread across both of our laps. He's not wearing the hat now, it sits on his other side.

_No, I'll have you to keep me warm._

_Logical answers, Sam. Keep it logical. _

I smile kindly at him, "I'll be fine, thanks."

Rick and Michonne are on the other side of the huge loft, it's too dark to tell whether they're asleep or not, but if I can't seem them I decide they can't see me, so I let myself relax a little.

"So," Carl cocks an eyebrow, "you gonna read tonight?" his interest is cute, but I have the sneaking suspicion he enjoys the me talking more than the story itself.

I roll my eyes at him and playfully shove his chest, "You're so needy. Why don't _you_ be the one to read tonight?" I suggest, because I too can find enjoyment in hearing Carl Grimes speak for long periods of time.

He gives me a look like I've grown a second head, "Have you _heard_ me read out loud?"

I give a little chuckle and shake my head.

"Well let's just say some of us haven't kept our reading skills as sharp as others." he shrugs meekly

"You said you read comics," I tease

"Yes, and my abilities to read BLAMs and SPLATs are quite good, however I'm not sure if I could read you the finer works with words like an-anen-anea-" Carl frowns as he tries to get the word out

"Anemone?" I laugh

He scowls, "Yes. That. Ugh. See this is why I let you do the reading."

I smile pridefully, giving a slight roll of my eyes, "Point taken."

"So you'll read?" he asks optimistically

I cast him a mischievous, "What do I get in return? I should use a little remuneration." _there, betcha can't say that one._

Carl's eyes widen, he is effectively lost, "Renuma-what?"

I laugh,_ knew it_, "Remuneration. It means payment. What do I get in return for reading to you." I do have some effective currency in mind, but I'm hoping he'll be the one suggest it.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see," he shrugs, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Well when you put it that way." I tease, "I guess I'll read."

I cave.

I'd have done it anyway I guess, but you know. It's worth a shot, "What do you wanna read?"

"Do you still have Peter Pan?" he asks. There's such innocence in his tone, he's just being honest. He doesn't realize the gravity that book has on me. I read that to him when he was sick, maybe even dying. The memories associated with reading that book are strong.

"Yeah," I croak out, giving a little nod. I get up and rummage through my bag, I find the paper back sitting at the bottom, The book still has the water damage from when it last rained and we found the carnival grounds. I go back to Carl and he leans against me while I read, book in one hand, flashlight in the other. He stays awake through the whole story this time, which is cute, even though his eyes get droopy, because it's late and we're both tired. I close the book and click off the flashlight. He sits up, stretching. For a moment I wonder if he's gonna do that stupid guy trick and use this as an excuse to put his arm around me. But he doesn't which is more than fine, because Carl's better than that.

"That's my favorite I think," Carl comments

"I like it," I don't know if I could make that bold statement as to call it my favorite though.

He looks at me and has a smirk on his face, "Wendy reminds me of you,"

I look curiously at him, "Why?"

He shrugs, "You don't think you'd follow a charming, young boy off to a magical island to take care of him and his brothers? Only to know you have to go home because you have good instincts?"

I shrug.

"Well, I just see it. You took care of me when I was sick." he points out

"You were too stubborn to go to A Block." I protest

Carl shrugs indifferently, "You still made sure I recovered. You didn't give up on me. You're like Wendy."

I smile a little, looking down, "Well, Peter reminds me of you. Stubborn, independent, doesn't let anyone tell him what to do."

Carl smirks, "I'd pick you over any Tiger Lily any day," I'm about to tell him that he's being a ridiculous kind of mushy. Not that it doesn't make my heart happy, or I don't think it's cute- because it is, it's just not Carl. I don't wanna be mushy. _Let's not be __**that **__couple. __**Please**__. _But then he kisses me, and he's shy about it at first, because my shoulders are tense and my body is still trying to disallow the contact my mind wishes for. _Stop that. Kiss him and be happy about it._ So I make my shoulders relax and we kiss.

_Yes. I missed this. I missed this most of all. _

_See, this is worth it. _

Eventually, one of us pulls away, and my head rest on his chest and his arms are wrapped around me. My mind being the ass it is remembers Rick's conversation with me earlier, "So, your dad had a little chat with me earlier." I joke quietly, I have to keep my voice down. We shouldn't be up this late, we need our sleep, and I also don't want to be overheard by anyone else who might happen to still be awake.

"Oh really?" Carl chuckles, "What about?"

I let out a breathy laugh, "You see that's the thing." I sit up a little, and I face him.

"Sam," Carl lifts his eyebrows at me, even in the darkness, his expression is clear, 'spill', it says.

"He was basically making sure we didn't have any plans to... help repopulate the earth..."

Carl's eyes widen, "He did not."

I nod, "He did."

"I can't believe he-"

"Carl," I stop him, "It's not a big deal. I kinda figured a conversation like that was bound to come up sometime. His concerns are legitimate, it's fine... really." I rest one of my hands against his chest.

He bites down on his bottom lip, he lets out a sigh and nods, "Yeah, I guess."

"We should really get some rest you know," I remind him

"Tomorrow's the big day," he says halfheartedly.

"You make it sound like it's gonna be the end of the world." I frown

He shrugs but doesn't continue, which is fine by me, I'm tired of fighting with him over the same subject. I rest my head back against his chest and my eyelids sag until I can't hold them open any longer.

As I fade, I tell myself that Terminus won't be the end, it will be a new beginning.


	41. Decent

Decency is one of those questionable things. Do we really have it anymore? Or did it die out when this all started? I think we'd all like to think we're decent people, but are we? We do things now, which in the world we used to know, would've been considered wicked, evil, sinful, disgraceful. Things that would've landed us in life sentences in the nearest penitentiary. But yet still we ask ourselves, are we decent?

I'm awoken in the middle of the night by the deafening crackle of thunder. I bolt to the sitting up position and I hear the constant pound of the rain above me. I hear the wind whipping against the walls of the building, and I can hear water drip into the building through the open pane of glass.

There's a flash of lightning that fills the room like it's daylight for a moment. A second later a clap of thunder rumbles in my ears and Carl is the one who's jolted awake.

"The hell?" he mutters, I look at him and his eyes are wide with fear.

There goes another boom. The more I hear it, the more I hear the thunder, the less it sounds like thunder. It melts together and sounds more like explosions. Explosions not unlike the ones that tore down our prison walls. I grab Carl's hand and he squeezes it. I know why he looked afraid.

"It's just thunder," I tell Carl, but really, I'm telling myself too.

"Yeah," Carl swallows roughly.

_I just need to relax, get my heart rate under control and I'll be out in no time_. I lie down and stare at the ceiling, I wait for a moment, "Ya gonna join me, or am I gonna have to stare alone?" I force some humor into my tone.

Carl lets out a forced chuckle and lies beside me, our sides touching.

"I hate thunderstorms," Carl grits his teeth.

I look over at him, "It's gonna be ok. Thunder is just the sound after a lightning strike due to the expansion of rapidly heating air." _read that in a book once_.

Carl shakes his head, a small smile on his face, like he's in disbelief, "You are so ridiculous sometimes."

A flash of lightning is immediately followed by a rumble of thunder, no delay. _That was a close one_, it shakes the building it's so loud.

"You know you can roughly estimate how far away a bolt of lightning is by the time it takes between the flash of lightning and the time you hear the thunder?" I ramble, _read that too. Same book_.

"Do you just spout off random facts when you're nervous Sam?" Carl laughs, but it's breathy. He's anxious too.

"Maybe," _Stupid thunderstorms. Freaking me out. Always have. No logical reason, they just do._

Another flash of lightning, "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi-" a crash of thunder interrupts my counting, "3 miles away." I conclude.

Carl nods, "We should try and get back to sleep."

"I can't," I shake my head, it's true, I probably couldn't even if I tried, I sleep too lightly for that.

"Me neither," Carl admits, grinding his teeth.

Lightning flashes its momentary light and I don't even get to one before lightning crashes. Carl squeezes my hand, I squeeze back. I squint my eyes shut, it's pointless to stare at darkness.

I can still tell when the lightning flashes because the world behind closed eyes brightens some and I begin counting out loud, Carl joins in too until thunder cuts us off and then I say how far away it is. In a strange way, it's almost therapeutic, and the anxiety that fights to keep me awake fades enough for me to slip back out of consciousness.

The storm has passed when I wake up the next morning. In the early dim light I find that Michonne and Rick aren't on this floor anymore, they must've gone downstairs.

I sit up, my back aches vaguely and I turn to Carl. His fingers are still loosely intertwined with mine, a smile curls in the corner of my mouth, I gently shake his shoulder, but he's out cold.

I decide to let him sleep for a little bit longer, I mean, it's not like we were leaving that minute, and who knows when he fell back asleep last night?

I walk downstairs quietly, ears prepped to hear voices. The rasp of Rick, the calm of Michonne, the twang of Daryl. But my ears pick up nothing. My lips draw to a line, confused. Surely there must be something. The board of the bottom step creaks and I cringe.

"Well one of them is up," I hear Daryl, he sounds tired.

I turn and look towards the back of the building. They're all sitting down in a corner.

I walk slowly towards them.

"How'd you sleep girly, thunder keep you up?" Daryl chuckles

I shrug, "Any walkers come around?" I imagine the thunder stirred them up, maybe it was a good thing Daryl stayed down here.

"A couple, I took care of 'em real quick though. Ain't nothin' ta worry 'bout."

"Where's Carl?" Rick asks

"Still asleep." I explain, "We ready to go? I can go get him..." I extend my thumb over my shoulder.

Rick bites the inside of his lips, flattening them out, thinking, "Let him be just a bit longer. I know he musta had a rough night." he decides.

Daryl stands up, "Well, if we're gonna wait, might as well use the time, I'm gonna see if the critter's are runnin' 'round this mornin'."

Rick nods, "Don't be out too long, though, 'specially since we wanna get there before tonight."

Daryl looks at me, "Wanna come hunt with me, girly?"

My eyes widen in surprise, _did that just happen? Did Daryl Dixon really just ask me to go hunt with him?_

_Is this real life?_

"Are you serious?" I exclaim in disbelief

Daryl rolls his eyes, "C'mon, ain't got time to waste." I follow him as he slings his crossbow off his back, "Grab that sack, you gonna need it," he nods at the empty bag on the ground that once held oats. I bend down and grab it. Daryl waits at the threshold of the door and I hurry up. Once I'm close enough he starts walking, I close the door behind me and run to catch up with him.

We head towards the woods, Daryl stops so he can load the crossbow. He pulls the string back, puts the arrow in its spot, he stands back up and looks at me, "Got anything else 'sides that knife?" I feel the pressure of the knife and its sheath at my side. I should probably pull it out.

"No... No sir?" _Can I call Daryl Dixon sir? Is that a thing? Great, now I sound like Patrick_

Daryl scoffs, "You can cut that sir crap out, ain't no need for it. Formality died with the decent people, ya know?"

I grit my teeth and nod, I'd like to consider myself a decent person, but then I remember all I've done so I could be here today.

Daryl's right.

"Lemme guess, you've hunted 'bout as often as you've skinned squirrels." Daryl chuckles quietly.

"Less," I admit, following Daryl's example of volume.

"No weapon to shoot with, no experience. Guess you'll make a good squirrel holder," Daryl decides.

"Great," I grumble.

"Well next time you'll at least have experience on your side. Gotta learn somehow since yo' daddy ain't here to teach ya. Figured I might as well." Daryl gives me a firm pat on my right shoulder.

I nod in response. Then we get down to the real stuff.

Daryl puts his index finger to his lips and nods to a branch, our first furry victim. I stand frozen and Daryl lets the arrow go. A moment later there's the thump of the squirrel hitting the ground. I follow Daryl over to the squirrel, he got it in the eye. He picks up the squirrel, pulls the arrow out, and hands the squirrel to me by the tail. I take it with gritted teeth, my fingers grasp tightly around the tail. I set the squirrel in the bag and then close the bag up so we can continue on. Daryl gives me some more hunting specifics and we catch a couple more squirrels before the sun gets too high.

"C'mon, we best be headin' back, need to get on the road soon." Daryl nods back in the general direction of the building.

We're about halfway back to the building when Daryl points out the tracks of a walker that must've stumbled by not too long ago.

"Which way did it go?" I turn to Daryl.

Daryl shrugs, "Why don't you tell me?" he points at the tracks, "Use whatcha learned."

I crouch down and look at the disturbance in the leaves and the vague dragging through the dirt. I can make out where the heel was by the way it sinks more into the dirt, which is still soft from last night's storm. One foot is turned inward and I can make out where each shuffling step was.

"It's headed that way," I point, which turns out is back towards the building, "Can we follow it?" I look up at Daryl hopefully.

"Yeah, don't see why not," he shrugs, giving in.

I pull out my knife, just in case, and Daryl loads an arrow. I follow the tracks and Daryl makes sure we're still headed in the right direction. The tracks stumble left, and then back right. My heart pounds excitedly,_ this is kind of fun. _

_I'm sick, what is wrong with me._

_This could just as easily be applied to animals, it just happens to be a walker, calm down._

_Valuable hunting skills Sam, you are accumulating valuable hunting skills._

_By means of tracking walkers! _

_'They aren't pets' _My mind flashes back to the words of Carl he used so long ago. He was scolding Lizzie, back at the prison. I grit my teeth.

I shake my head, trying to clear it of my inner conflict. _Focus on the job_. I speed up a little. Then I hear it. No longer do my ears pick up the quiet shuffle and crunch of the leaves that our feet make. I hear the growls and shuffling so loud it almost seems like stomping. I look back at Daryl, he hears it too. I can see the building in the distance. I look back at the tracks.

"We gonna get it?" I whisper to Daryl, he nods and I pick up my pace, careful to stay out of the tracks. Then I see it, I stop and my foot steps in the wrong place, a twig cracks and the walker turns around. I bit my lip, I have my knife.

_Am I gonna do this? Daryl?_ It stumbles for me, it's taller than me by a good half foot, _I could take it, probably._ I don't have time to look back at Daryl for instruction, I have to make my own decisions. I decide to screw it. Once it's close enough I reach up and plunge my knife into its skull. I twist and pull out the knife, I push the walker down and turn to face Daryl. He lowers the crossbow and nods, "Not too bad girly. Now c'mon, we've wasted enough time."

We make it back to the building and Carl's still not up. Which I find strange, but understandable, due to last night. Daryl guts the squirrels, but he leaves the skins because we haven't got time to cook them now.

I run upstairs to grab my bag and wake up Carl while the adults make one last sweep to make sure we've got everything.

Carl's asleep on his stomach, one arm twisted so the back of his hand rests on his back, and his head is turned towards me while it rests against his other forearm. His legs are twisted up in the blanket.

I crouch beside him and shake his shoulder, "Carl, come on, wake up. We gotta get goin'." he grumbles and I shake his shoulder a little more aggressively. He eventually lets out a moan and one eye cracks open.

"Come on sleepy head, everyone's waiting on you." I tease, ruffling his mop of dark brown hair. He turns over and rubs his face with his hands. He looks at me and his eyes narrow. He sits up.

"Why's there blood on your face?" his hand moves for my cheek and I cast him a confused look. I raise my fingers to my face and they brush a splotch of something. I look at my fingers, it's the black blood of walkers.

"Oh," I shake my head, trying to reassure him, "I was just out hunting with Daryl, there was a walker, I took him out. It wasn't a big deal." I shrug.

"Lucky," Carl sighs, "My dad wouldn't let me do something like that."

"He might. I didn't even do a lot, I was just a squirrel holder." _we can't be wasting time like this, we can have a conversation about the fair or unfairness of me hunting when we're on the road_, "Now come on, let's go." I stand up and pull Carl to his feet. He grabs his hat and I grab the blanket. We grab our bags and I stuff the blanket where it belongs. There's nothing else left to do but head downstairs. The adults are already by the door, and then we head out. Back onto the tracks. Where we walk.

Sometimes I think this process we go through is a bit repetitive. Find a place, deplete it of whatever goods it had left, sleep, leave. Every day. If we're lucky. I guess it's better than staying out in the woods exposed, with no goods. But it does get a little wearing on the soul. All of this gets a little wearing on the soul. You have to be tough to survive here, not just tough either. You have to be willing to do stuff you aren't proud of, but you have to know how to come back. It's a daunting task, especially if you have to grow up in this world like this.

Daryl's right, the decent people, they don't survive. They don't do those horrible things, they died as they lived. Decent.


	42. Numb

I think numbness is a preview of what it's like to be dead. One part of you loses feeling, maybe multiple parts. It burns at first, and then it tingles, and then there's nothing. Isn't that what death is like, to feel nothing? I mean once you're dead, you _are_ nothing. Walkers are numb, they're numb all over. They don't feel pain when we shoot them in the chest. They don't feel it, they're numb. I don't like it when my fingers go numb from the cold, or the tip of my nose, or my cheeks. I especially don't like it when I feel numb in places the cold can't get to. Like when my family died, first I felt pain, so much pain. It was like fire in my chest and my stomach and all over. Then I just felt numb, in my chest, in my gut, in my heart. I overcame that of course, I'm still here. But I think it's the same principle as cold numbness, when they died, part of me died, on the inside. That's why I felt the numbness.

The air is brisk as it pushes against my face, and even with the sun rising in the cloudless sky, I'm cold.

I walk beside Carl, I look down and it's funny because we're step with each other without even trying. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and his cheeks are red from the chill. He's cold too.

I pull my hand out from my jacket pocket, I move my gloved hand (granted the gloves are fingerless) towards his hand, then I take it from him and lace my fingers with his. I walk closer to him, so that our jackets brush as we walk. His arm is pressed against mine, he's radiating heat, but not in a sick, fever kind of way. He's just warm, which makes me warm too.

We pass another Terminus sign, this one has the same message except it's signed _MAGGIE SASHA BOB_.

I'm not gonna lie, the fact that Bob still gets to live makes me a little mad. After all the good people we lost, Bob got to live. Now, it's not that want him dead. I don't think I should wish anyone was dead, except maybe the Governor, but he's gone now anyways.

"Sasha and Bob," I tell Carl, "They're alive too. This is good Carl." I smile at him, and he smiles back, but his eyes don't agree. I glare at him and he gives me a surrendering look. I shake my head at him. _He's impossible._

Before the sun reaches its peak we pass by a concrete tower there's a dead walker lying there, brains smashed to pieces all over the ground. It smells absolutely rancid. I wonder if one of our people killed it, but then I look up and notice that the building isn't completely surrounded by walls. Judging by the position of the walker and the position of the opening on the building. Based on some assumed trajectory, it's a safe bet that walker fell, no one had to kill it.

Then a second thought hits me, _was_ that walker one of our people? I get a tighter grasp on Carl's hand and I look at the walker closer. Dirty brown pants, dirty red plaid shirt, light gray skin, once male. The face is gone, smashed in. Probably from the impact. But from what I can make out, it wasn't one of our own.

I exhale, and until then I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath. I relax my grip on Carl's hand and his thumb rubs my thumb comfortingly.

We walk on an hour or so longer and then I see something in the distance. We get closer and I realize it's a tunnel. We arrive at the start of the tunnel and I look to my left and I see the blood writing again. Same message. _Damn, they haven't lost Bob yet._

_Sam!_

_I regret nothing._

"We sure as hell can't go over," Daryl comments

"Maybe we go around?" Michonne suggests

Rick shakes his head, "No, we need to go through it. Goin' around will take a day or so, it's best we just go on through. I can't hear any walkers, we got flashlights, I just say we do this."

Rick's right, tonight's going to be the coldest night yet, it hasn't gotten any warmer since the sun came up and my nose and cheeks are starting to feel numb. We need to find shelter tonight, and going around this tunnel, the odds of finding any are second to none. We have to go through. We all nod and we follow Rick into the tunnel. We walk until the light from the outside comes to no aid and we click on our flashlights.

Stepping into the tunnel is a whole new kind of cold. The wind blows at our backs, and without any sunlight, the temperature of the tunnel is at least five or ten degrees colder, we're permanently in the shadows, no sunlight to touch this place, to share its warmth, it's like hell. The dank chill feels like it's settling into my bones and I move closer to Carl.

Light bounces off the concrete walls and the artificialness of the light interests me. It's a bright white, and gives off no heat, unlike the sun which gives off more of an orange-yellow glow and at least tries to offer some warmth. Three beams of light scanning the area as we walk, Carl's, Daryl's, and Rick's.

The further we walk, the more my ears pick out the faint moans and growls of a walker. Maybe two, but nothing we can't handle. I unclip my knife from its sheathe with my empty hand. I grip it with my non-dominate hand, but if shit hits the fan, I'll have time to grab it properly, I just want to be prepared.

We walk further and then someone's flashlight catches an obstacle in our path. There's a huge mound of concrete rubble and debris piled up about 30-40 feet ahead of us. Crushed beneath said debris are the two walkers I heard earlier. It takes the quick swipe of Michonne's katana and an arrow from Daryl's crossbow to silence them.

We scale the debris and find a mound of dead walkers piled off to the side ahead of us. Above us is a huge hole where the ceiling should be.

I look at Carl with wide eyes and he looks at me, we both mouth 'Maggie' my expression more of awe, and Carl's more of disbelief. _She'd do it, I know Maggie would._

We climb down the wall that is stained with dried black blood. The shells of many bullets scatter the floor and the reek of rotting walker fills my nose. It feels like it fills my entire body with its stench and utter aura of disgust. I put my knife away and I pinch my nose, I'm forced to breathe through my mouth, I notice the others are doing similar tricks, though they aren't near as obvious about it.

We walk past all of that and I let go of my nose, mainly because I feel dumb, but also the toxicity of the air caused by rotting corpse has become much less prevalent. Carl nudges me playfully, silently teasing me for what I'm sure he interprets as an overreaction, but I claim as justified.

I see the literal light at the end of the tunnel and we follow it, clicking off our flashlights and picking up our pace. We step into the sunlight, and I feel its warmth, though it isn't much, it's better than that hellhole. The very tips of my fingers are starting to get numb from where Carl's hand doesn't touch. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the brightness, which is blinding compared to our prior darkness. When my eyes finally start to work like eyes I notice there's a train yard up ahead, beyond that, a large brick building. There it is. Terminus. My first instinct is step forward, and then again, and again, until I'm running. But I take that first step and Carl yanks me backwards, he gives me a very clear, stern 'we wait for instructions' look and I stand still, ashamed for acting out so stupidly. _What am I thinking. _

We turn to Rick, who looks to Daryl. The adults huddle and have a conversation that my ears only pick up as distorted hisses.

There's a good five minutes of discussion before Rick finally turns to us to gives us the plan, "We're gonna watch this place for the night. See them before they see us, we'll head around and go the back way. Once we find their fences, we'll move far enough away to set up camp for the night. We'll break camp at dawn and head in." Rick explains in the very blunt, to the point way Rick does sometimes.

We nod and we head right, up a grassy hill back up into the woods. Daryl acts like a scout, running ahead, staying covered, coming back, reporting where we need to go. We follow him and the process continues. Until we get there. We find the fence. It's a standard chain link fence, nothing special. No reinforcements. No second wall. At least from what I can tell.

For the first time something in my gut twists. A feeling of apprehension overcomes me. _This is it? This is the only thing protecting the so called safe haven? Ok, there has to be something else_. From what I can tell, this place doesn't look overrun. _This is Terminus remember? Terminus good. Family comes to Terminus. Good. Terminus good. This is one thing. No reason to lose faith in this one thing. Terminus is good. _

But I can't shake it. I feel this sense of numbness, one that not even the cold could implement, it's deep in my gut and I want it to go away. I have been looking forward for this for too long to lose faith now. So why am I still numb?


	43. Life

Life is short. The apocalypse has only made this more apparent. You take what you can while you've got it, appreciate the people in your life, use what you can out of the circumstances you've been given. When a new opportunity strikes, look into it. Help it mold your life, but be careful, not all of these molding opportunities are for the better. The bad things shape your life too. You have to make the most of it while you can, because you'll never know which day will be your last.

We walk straight back from the fences about for about 100 yards, it's down a hill and if we keep our fire low, the people at Terminus will never know we were here. We set up our cans tied to string around our small camp area and built a small fire, keeping it down to embers. Daryl skins and cooks the squirrels and we split that between the five of us for dinner. We eat before the sun goes down and we stamp out what little fire we have once the sun sets, we can't afford to give away our position.

It isn't quite pitch black yet, but the sun is mostly gone and only the very edge of the horizon glows that warm, orange-yellow.

Michonne is tending to my shoulder, like a one last time kind of thing. It's almost completely healed up and she doesn't even give me pain medication this time.

The way Michonne acts whenever she takes care of my shoulder, or the way she took care of Carl and I after The Night, make me wonder about her. And who she really is, who she really was? What was her life like?

"Michonne?" I ask as she's unwrapping my shoulder bandaging.

"Yes?" She looks at me, her dark brown eyes look kind at the moment, but I know they can turn hostile and almost violent in a flash.

"What were you, before everything happened?" I ask slowly, you have to approach these things carefully. Some people don't take to this question too nicely.

She looks down and doesn't reply.

Observation and curiosity take the better of me and I can't stop myself from saying, "You had a kid, didn't you?"

She stops working, her lips form a tight line, "Yes," she says finally, she balls up the old bandaging, it's not bloody, it can be used again later.

Carl, who's sitting beside me, holding my hand and rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand, "What was his name,"

I turn to him, "Or her."

"He," Michonne nods at Carl, she digs through the bag that holds the medical supplies, "I had a three year old son."

Oh, I bite my lip, how much more will she tell? "What was his name?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me you had a kid?" Carl looks desperately at Michonne. By the tone of his voice and look in his eyes, I know that they had a strong bond, much closer than Michonne and my own, "Did you have any others? Were you married?"

She looks down again, I can see the weight of the memories pulling her down. She shrugs and continues to work on my shoulder, "One question at a time."

Carl and I look at each other, a moment of understanding in between us, "Name." we say at the same time

"His name was Andre," Michonne allows, she runs a cloth dowsed in alcohol over my shoulder. It hardly stings.

"Did you have any others?" Carl's brow is furrowed, still trying to understand why he didn't know this before.

Michonne pulls out a clean bandage, "No, one was enough for me, and Andre was a handful, just like you two," she smiles, exposing her teeth. She finishes wrapping my shoulder and then stands up.

"Well, I should get some rest, I'm gonna leave you kids now," she nods at us and walks to the other side of the camp.

The night only gets colder the longer the sun is gone. I layer a long sleeved shirt beneath my sweater and jacket, I pull my beanie snugly over my ears and I stuff my hands in my pockets. I lean into Carl and he wraps his arm around me, it's going to be a cold night. We wrap the blanket around us and I pull my knees to my chest. Carl's head rests against mine, and even though I'm cold on the outside, I feel warm on the inside. I close my eyes and I exhale, relaxing a little. Rick is staying up tonight, Daryl's already asleep, with his back propped up by the trunk of a tree and Michonne is asleep a couple feet away. Rick's looking back towards Terminus, but occasionally casting glances back at us.

I'm nearly asleep when I hear his voice, "Sam," Carl says, I blink open my eyes, Carl's moved his head, so I turn mine and look up at him

"What?" I ask, my eyes looking into his, even in the dark, their blue is luminescent. _Is everything ok? You look pretty serious there_. He clearly looks like he's trying to cover up whatever is on his mind.

"Carl?" I look at him, tilting my head, "What is it?" I rest my hand on his chest and with the hand that isn't already around me he takes that hand.

"I love you," the intensity of his gaze is enough to make me melt.

_Oh. That._

"I love you too," I immediately reply, _why is he saying this now? I mean, I've known this for a while, I didn't know it needed to be said out loud, I just figured it was kind of a mutual agreement._

"I don't mean it like as a passing saying, like I love video games, or I love chocolate pudding. I mean it. I mean that I love you, and I am in love with you." I open my mouth to try and stop him, _I get it, I love him too. A lot._ But he shakes his head at me. _Let the boy speak_, "And I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, and I just want you to know that I love you and I'm not going to let anything-"

I cut him off and kiss him, I've never been the one to start it before, but it's not hard. I turn more towards him and his hand leaves mine and goes to the other side of my waist. After a minute or so I pull away.

"Just stick with I love you, you dork." I kiss him again on the nose, but it's just a peck. Even in the near darkness I can tell he's blushing.

"It needed to be said," he halfheartedly grumbles

"I hear ya sheriff," A small grin forms on my face. He kisses my cheek and I blush.

_God, when did I become the outgoing type?_

_When shit got real._

_Oh._

_Well then._

I rest my head back against his chest and shut my eyes again. Now if there are no more interruptions- no matter how sweet- I'll be going to sleep now. He doesn't bother me and soon I'm asleep.

It's very rare these days to have a good dream, I don't think I've had one since my dad was still alive, so when I do have them I treasure those nights.

Tonight is one of those nights.

We're back at the prison, Dad's still alive, but somehow, so are Mom and Noah. Carl's my boyfriend, which is totally out of normal chronological order, but it's like all the things I love in my life are there. Nothing major happens, it's just like real life, the way I wish it could go. We could have the prison, my family could still be alive, and I could still love and be with Carl.

I'm sad when I'm woken up the next morning because I wish my dream could become a reality, but life isn't just good things. We have to know the bad, so we can suffer and feel pain and recognize the good when we get it.

It starts in my shoulder and then I hear his voice. I open my eyes and Carl's shaking my shoulder, calling my name quietly. I sit up and he nods at me, "We're heading out. It's time." His second sentence is much more solemn than the first, which by contrast makes it seem like he was laughing.

He stands up and I extend my arms towards him, he pulls me up and I brush off the leaves from the seat of my pants. My joints ache from sleeping curled up like that and from the chill of the morning. I roll my neck and shoulders, trying to get rid of the crick in my neck.

"Let's head up there and spread out, watch 'em a little bit longer." Rick decides

We start to head up the hill with our bags, "Wait."

Rick pulls out a shovel and digs a hole, "Just in case." and we bury our bags, including the one with most of our extra weapons. I'm just armed with my knife, it'll have to do.

We head up the hill, Daryl bumps his elbow with me, "Girly, you and me, we'll stick together, ok?" I nod

We're at the top now, just in front of the fence, Rick looks at Carl, "You wanna stick with me?"

Carl grits his teeth and lets go of my hand, he looks at his father and says something 'sorry' and 'it's alright' and he heads off with Michonne. I look at Rick and then Daryl, Daryl nods in a direction and we head out too.

We walk past Carl and Michonne, who've stopped for some reason, but Daryl won't let me stop and ask why.

"They's talkin'," Daryl tells me, "Best not ta eavesdrop."

Oh Daryl, I wish you knew me better. We get out a little farther and Daryl decides this will be a good place to keep watch.

"Um, Daryl?" I use my most pathetic voice

He grunts, "Yeah kid?"

I wince a little, "I, um, I gotta pee,"

He gives me a look and I give an apologetic expression, but really I'm not sorry at all.

_Sorry I'm just not sorry._

"I gotta go real bad," I cross my legs and bend my knees a little.

Daryl grimaces, obviously not too thrilled, "Just... go out a little... don't stray t' far now. And hurry up." he instructs

I nod rapidly and kind of run off, like I've really gotta go. But really I just wanna see what the deal is between Carl and Michonne.

When I know I'm getting close, I stop focusing on speed and start focusing on stealth. I can see them in the distance, but they haven't noticed me. Carl's looking at Michonne and Michonne's looking back at him. I run out and come back around, there's a drop off not too far from where Carl and Michonne are. I crouch run over there, sure I'm completely obscured by the bushes in from of me and of course the drop off.

Their words are quiet, and a little shaky, but I can hear them.

"-your dad brought me back. You did," that's Michonne, I lift my head just enough for my eyes to watch what's going on, "I've see how you've been lookin' at your dad. You don't have to be afraid of me, or him."

Carl lowers his head and even from here I can tell he's upset.

"He told me the other day, that he proud of me. That I was a good man," his tone is shaky, it jumps from his normal octave up an entire one, and back down, "I'm not. I know more, now, about what he wanted for me. And I tried, but I still have these thoughts." My heart aches, seeing him this way. He pauses, and there's more conviction in his tone this time, but it pains him, it pains him so much, "I'm not what he thinks I am. I'm just another monster too." It's like someone's just crushed me under an immovable force, and I can't breathe.

_You're not a monster Carl!_ I scream at him silently. He suffers, I know that now, I'm angry with myself that I didn't notice it sooner. He tries to put on his brave face, pretend he's ok, but he's not. I remember the night we lost the prison and he screamed at the sky, how unhinged he was. He thought he was insane, but those were his monsters. They were coming out of him, and now he believes he's become one.

It's all I can do not to reveal myself and go to him and make him feel better. I look again and Michonne's hugging him. His arms hang limply at his sides.

_Oh Carl, my sweet, sweet Carl. You're so brave, and so quiet, we forget that you're suffering. _

I come back to reality a little bit, _You've been gone too long, Daryl will be suspicious._

So I run, I leave and I run until I'm close to Daryl and I walk back over to him.

"Told ya not to eavesdrop," Daryl comments, he's kneeling on one knee surveying the area out in front of us, past the fence.

_How does he always know?_

"Sorry, I just-"

"Save it," Daryl cuts me off, "I don't need your bullshit excuses as to why ya did it. Ya did it, that's what matters. Can't change it now."

I look down, ashamed.

"C'mon, I gotta pretty good idea a the place. Let's head back." Daryl shakes his head at me. He stands up and I follow him back.

He turns his head back towards me, "Ya know one of these days, yer gonna listen into somethin' that yer gonna regret." Oh Daryl, I already have.

We meet back up at starting point and we're the last ones there. I look over at Carl, but he doesn't look back. I walk over to him and squeeze his hand.

I might not be able make him feel better, but I can damned well try.

We climb over the fence and there's a little bit of a drop on the other side. Rick goes first, then Michonne, then Carl. It's my turn now. I hop the fence and land on my feet. I look around. Am I ready to try my shot at this new life? More importantly, what does this place hold in the means of a life?


	44. Trust

Daryl's feet hit the ground behind me, I hear the swoosh of Michonne's katana being removed from its sheath, Rick holds his revolver, ready to shoot. Carl pulls out his Baretta, and I unsheathe my knife. Daryl takes off in a crouch run, crossbow pointed as he scans the area. About 50 yards away, there's a partially opened door into the large brick building. Rick gets to it, throws it open and Daryl goes in.

I hear a voice, it's a clear feminine tone that makes chills run up my spine, "Terminus. Those who arrive, survive." _Who is she talking to?_ "Follow the tracks to the point where all lines intersect." We're inside now and Daryl's the first to go down a hallway, he's peering into the next room, "There are maps at the crossings to help guide you with your journey." Daryl walks into the room slowly, we follow close behind him. Carl and I are shoved towards the back and I can't see what the room in front of me looks like. All I know is Daryl's crossbow is lowered.

"Sanctuary for all. Community for all." Daryl gives a little nod and we all walk forward. I can see the room now. It's a large room, like the size of a warehouse. In front of us is a large white panel that might be a faded map. Desks and sets of drawers are piled up, pushed together, not in use at the moment. Off to my right, there's about six people bustling around rolling metal tables. Attached to the tables are support beams for light fixtures. Actual working, electric light fixtures. With actual. working, electric lights. _No way. This place has electricity? This is too good. We belong here. I believe in this place._

"Those who arrive, survive."

We have arrived.

We will survive.

Rick picks up his pace and walks past Daryl. He walks over to the woman I've identified as the speaker. She's older, with white hair, she wears large, black headphones and speaks into a microphone while looking off a script at a desk in about the center of the room. _Here it comes. Now it can begin_. Carl follows his dad, I follow Carl, "Terminus. Sanctuary for all. Community for all."

"Hello," Rick says

"Those who surv-" she stops mid-sentence and turns to us, surprised. Her eyes are wide and she removes her headphones.

"Hello," Rick repeats

The dull roar of conversation from over at the collection of tables has stopped and all attention is on us. I don't recognize anyone here. _Where's Maggie? And Glenn? Sasha? ...Bob? Where are all the other people of Terminus? Surely they can't just be composed of what- 7 or so?_

We stand there, I stand up straighter and try to look bigger than I really am. The line-up is Rick, Carl, me, Daryl, Michonne.

One man in a brown jacket speaks up, "Well, I bet Albert is on perimeter watch." he sets something down and walks over to us, "You here to rob us?"

I barely move my eyes to look at myself, and to imagine what I must look like. Small teenage girl, with messy hair that used to be a braid, but now strands are falling all over the place. Beanie encompassing most of her head. Not very threatening face, just generally unappealing. A dirty jacket with a bullet hole, jeans, and Doc Martens.

_Do I __**look**__ like a robber to you? Do any of us... well maybe Daryl... and with that beard Rick's got goin'... but that's beside the point._

"No," Rick shakes his head, he walks forward and he holsters his gun, "We wanted to see you, before you saw us." I stop breathing and I just watch.

"Makes sense," the man shrugs, he walks closer to Rick and if I was closer to Carl I totally would've grabbed his hand. I need something right now, to tether me here. I believe this is right, but I am so scared. I shouldn't be, right? _It's all gonna be alright. It's all gonna be alright. _"Usually, we do this where the tracks meet," he looks over his shoulder and gives a pointed cough, "Welcome to Terminus." He extends arms, gesturing to all around us. He puts his arms down, "I'm Gareth. Looks like you've been on the road for a good while."

Rick nods, "We have." He pauses for a moment, "Rick. That's Carl, Sam, Daryl, Michonne." we just stare, me with hope, them with suspect. I don't want to suspect, I want to believe. I get why they're suspectful I suppose. You never know what you're going to get. Gareth waves, but we all still remain unresponsive.

"You're nervous, I get it," he gestures to the folks behind him, "we were all the same way." he walks closer still, "We came here for sanctuary. That what you're here for?"

Rick gives a little nod, "Yes." I squeeze the knife in my hand.

Gareth gives his own little nod, "Good. You found it." He turns around to one of his buddies, "Hey Alex." The man, who I presume is Alex, walks towards Gareth. Gareth turns back to us and continues, "This isn't as pretty as the front. We gotta nothin' to hide. But the welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer." He claps Alex on the shoulder, "Alex will take you, ask you a few questions. But first, we need to see everyone's weapons." I bite a little on my upper lip. _This is good, they're a good place. They want to check us for our weapons. This is good. This is ok_. "If you could just lay them down in front of you."

Everyone looks to Rick and Rick looks back at us. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence and I just stare because I don't know what else to do. Then Rick pulls his Colt Python back out, and very slowly he bends down and sets it on the ground, "Alright."

Gareth nods, "I'm sure you understand,"

The rest of us lower our weapons, I set my knife at my feet and I move my eyes left and right, Carl puts down his Baretta and Daryl puts down his crossbow. Michonne sets her katana on the ground and then we stand back up.

Rick looks at Gareth, "Yes I do." he sticks out his arms to be frisked. Daryl drops another knife, and puts his arms up. I look at Carl and he looks at me, we both reluctantly hold up our arms. Alex is frisking Daryl.

Alex chuckles, trying to be lighthearted, "I'd hate to see the other guy." Daryl stares ahead, without acknowledgement.

"You would." Rick states bluntly

He moves onto me and I instantly flinch as his hands go to my sides. _Keep it together, keep it together_. "We'd better keep an eye on you," Alex teases, "You look dangerous." he pats down my legs.

He looks up and I look him dead in the eyes, completely serious, "I am."

_*cough* bullshit._

_Shut up, you._

Alex doesn't say anything and he moves on to Carl, there's still a scratch on his face from The Night, "They deserve it?" He pats down his sides.

"Yes," Carl says clearly, but the blankness of his tone is enough to send chills down my spine. He looks down at Alex. There's a look in Rick's as he studies his son that hurts me. He's dazed for a moment, the Gareth pats him on the back and he comes back.

Gareth comes back to the front, "Just so you know, we aren't those kind of people, but we aren't stupid either." he looks at all of us, "And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid." he gives a small grin, "As long as everyone's clear on that, there shouldn't be any problems, just solutions. Ok?" he turns around and starts walking back to where he came from. Alex hands Michonne back her katana, he bends down for Daryl's crossbow, but Daryl snags it himself, along with his knife. Daryl glares at Alex, but Alex moves on to me, seemingly undeterred. He hands me my knife, I take it and give him a little nod. He hands Carl his Bareta and Rick his Colt Python and his knife.

In one snappy push, Rick slides his gun into its holster while looking at Alex. Alex looks startled for a moment but then recovers with a small smile, "If you'll follow me," he waves us forward and he walks towards a door. Rick follows him and we follow Rick.

_See guys, everything is falling into place. It's ok. _

We go outside to a concrete courtyard area, mostly enclosed by the brick walls. Daryl passes me, then Carl, then Rick and approaches Daryl, "How long's this place been here?"

Alex turns to him, "Since almost the start." _See, this is a good sign, they've been here awhile, steady environment_, "When all the camps got overrun, people started finding this place. Think it was instinct ya know. Follow a path. Some folks are headed to the coast, others out west, or up north. But they all wound up here." We've stopped walking now and we stand in front of a woman with auburn hair, she's cooking something at the grill, meat by looks of it, "Heard ya came in the back door. Smart, you'll fit right in here." Yes. That's what I hoping for, now where's my family? There's more people milling around in the courtyard, I look around, hoping to find something.

"Hey Mary, would you fix each of these new folks a plate?" Alex asks, giving the woman cooking in a sweater and long skirt a name.

I see a woman in a poncho eating at one of the tables. Daryl had a poncho once, I remember when I first arrived at the prison, he wore it during the winter.

Michonne speaks up, "Why do you do it? Why do you let people in?"

Alex replies right away calmly, "More people become a part of us, we get stronger."

_Keep looking Sam, they have to be here, they have to be_. A man in a chair not too far away digs through a burnt orange backpack, a twinge of familiarity strikes me, but I continue looking anyway.

"That's why we put up the signs," continues Alex, "Invite people in, that's how we survive." I look over at Rick, he's looking around too. There's another man with orange hair in riot gear... riot gear like we had at the prison. Riot gear is riot gear, probably found it off some walker.

"Here," Alex's voice says, I turn and he hands a plate of meat to Carl. _Who cares about food? I wanna see Maggie and Glenn! _My stomach grumbles in protest.

_Ok, I care about food._

He hands me a plate and I take it, I look down and I catch a glimpse of metal, sunlight reflecting off of it. It's a pocket watch chain. Who carries around a pocket watch anymore? Glenn did, that watch was so pretty. I think it was Hershel's once.

I scan the crowd one more time and I still lack to see a familiar face. My gut drops. _This place is not what it seems_.

Rick walks forward, he pushes me slightly to the side. Alex offers him a plate, to which Rick slams it down and reaches into Alex's pocket. He reveals a pocket watch, the silver glistens with an unsettling familiarity. He puts Alex in a choke hold and points the pistol to his head. Carl and I drop our plates, I reach for my weapon and Daryl points his crossbow at Alex. Carl fumbles for his gun and Michonne pulls her katana, we three swing around and look for any challengers. We have the attention of everyone in the courtyard and a couple people pull out hand guns.

_Bitch please._

"Where the hell'd you get this watch?" Rick growls

Rick's tone intensifies as he gets no answer, "Where the hell did you get this watch?"

"You want answers? You want anything else, you get 'em when you put down the gun." Alex is scared now, no doubt. I'd be too if Rick Grimes, who I knew had a history where his mental state was not at its peak, had a gun to my head and my neck in a choke hold.

Rick turns, looking up at the top of the building, my eyes flit over there. There's a man with a sniper rifle, aimed at Rick, "I see your man on the roof. The sniper rifle. How good's his aim?" he lowers his voice, "Where'd you get the watch?"

We're all aiming at Alex now. This isn't it right. Terminus isn't right. This isn't what was supposed to happen.

"Where'd you get the watch?!" Rick screams

"Don't do anything!" Alex calls up to his buddy on the roof, "Put it down! Ya put it down!" the man complies, "Now you wanna listen to me. There's lots of us."

Rick doesn't care, "Where did you get the watch."

"Got it off a dead one," _Bullshit_, "I didn't think he'd need it."

"That riot gear," Rick slings Alex around, "That poncho."

I hear another voice and I turn back out, prepared to hit anyone. I look out of the corner of my eye, Gareth, "Got the riot gear off a dead cop. Found the poncho on a clothes line."

"Gareth we can wait," Alex chokes out, Rick's slung him around so they face Gareth.

"Shut up Alex," Gareth bluntly states.

"You talk to me," Rick demands.

"What's there left to say," he reasons, "You don't trust us anymore."


	45. Animal

As humans, have animal instincts. We did evolve from them after all. I'm a primate, you're a primate, that walker was a primate. Monkey see, monkey do, nurture offspring, fight or flight. All are examples of animal instincts. There are situations where our human consciousness drops out and our subconscious takes over. Doing what it takes to survive, using those animal instincts and applying them.

"Gareth," Alex wheezes

Gareth raises his palm, "Shut. Up." he states very articulately.

"Gareth, please," Alex croaks. I almost feel bad for the guy, but I still don't know where our friends are, so I don't quick eke out that 'feel bad'.

Gareth keeps his palm raised, "It's ok, it's ok." he settles his weight on his feet, "Rick what do you want?"

"Where are our people?" Rick growls, he tightens his finger around the trigger. Brains could blow at any time. Bye bye, Alex.

"You didn't answer the question," Gareth says plainly, he balls up his fist. Rick whirls around and that's when all hell breaks loose. I hear a shot and turn around; Alex is on the ground, presumably dead. Blood is staining the concrete, it had to come from somewhere. But I didn't have time to ponder the finer details of that, because shots were being fired. I crouched down, trying to dodge the bullets. I whirl my head around furiously my ears filled with the sounds of bullet fire, in every direction. I look around frantically, _what are we doing? What can we do._ I dodge left and right, just the noises of gunfire is enough to make me jump. My heart pounds in my throat. Goddamn I wish I had a gun. My head darts left, Rick and Michonne are crouching. Then I swing it to the right, Carl is standing almost protectively in front of me, shooting at some guy by a table with a pistol. The man falls, my head goes back left.

Rick yells something that is muffled and covered up by more bullets, Rick extends his arm like he's trying to protect Carl. Michonne and Daryl keep looking back at me. Michonne has her katana ready to sever the heads of anyone who gets close. Daryl looks around, moving his aimed crossbow. Rick runs towards and alley way and we follow him. I hear the ricochet of bullets off the ground and we're forced to stop, we turn and Daryl leads us another way. Gunfire roars behind me and now I can only hear the blood flowing through my ears. I'm panting and scared. _How could I have been so stupid? There is no safe haven. There never was, there will never be. _

_Stop. You can think about how much of a dumbass you were later. The priority is to get the hell out of here._

Carl looks over at me and something makes him grab my hand. He kind of pulls me along, he yells something but I still can't hear anything, just the roar of gunfire and the blood rushing through my own ears. I make my legs keep running even though everything inside of me wants to shut down. My mind stops thinking and my subconscious takes over. _Fight or flight_.

There's potted plants everywhere, big ones, small ones. There's also these square plots overflowing with green, colorful foliage. There's a couple of tables with orange and red umbrellas, past that is another potential exit. I hear the bullets hitting the ground close behind us, my whole body is pure adrenaline and I don't tell it what to do anymore.

I hear the guns ahead of us, and Rick shields his face, he looks up, shoots a couple bullets and we're forced to go another way. Rick pushes Carl behind him and shouts another command, but I'm still deaf to his words. All I know is we're running back and to my right, we head into a small hangar-like area and Carl is still clenching my hand tightly. There's an exit straight ahead. We pick up our speed and run faster. _Come on, come on. _

_Shit._

The door's closing. It's closing faster than we can get to it. Still we run and run until it's completely closed and Rick has stopped. The roar of the guns has finally ceased and I can actually hear Daryl say, "There!" he points at a barred door and we run to it. Daryl shakes it, but it doesn't budge. Rick turns around and points to a different door. It's a black door, with a barred window, and a handle instead of a knob. To the left of the door, in white paint, there's a single letter, A. Daryl opens the door and it immediately complies, we head out through an alleyway with several large wooden crates, the rumble of gunfire is back.

We run in between them and past a wrecked, old, red car without windows and then past a white car with a rusted brown roof. The walls of the building we run past are red, but stained black like smoke in some parts. I keep dodging and Carl keeps his hold on my hand. We follow Daryl, we slow down, trying to figure out where to go next. He turns to us, points at something ahead and shouts something I can't make out. I follow him anyway, words don't matter right now, just actions.

We make a left turn and head down another alleyway. A man on the roof starts shooting at Daryl. Daryl crouches, trying to protect himself._ No! Daryl!_ Fear builds up in my body and then I realize something. The bullets hit the ground all around him, but surprisingly enough, they don't hit Daryl himself.

_God where did these guys learn to shoot? Stormtrooper School?_

Rick comes up behind us and points to the right, we head that way. We run and I look to my left, there's a chain link fence, some parts are covered with cloth, but I can see past in other parts. It smells putrid and I think I'm going to throw up. I see skeletons, skeletons with their meat picked off. I start to heave when I pay attention for a moment longer and realize they're _human _skeletons. I turn away before I can make it worse for myself, and we run past the area. We're about 50 feet from another entrance with the white letter A painted next to it when I hear something, like actually hear something.

"Help!" voices call. I whirl my head around and there's two red shipping containers stacked on top of one another. I hear distinct banging against metal and more screams in the form of the word '_help_' cry out.

"Keep going!" I'm ripped from my stupor by Rick's voice. Carl pulls me again and we run into the building. We run down a dimly lit hallway, and Daryl opens a door on the left, and we follow Michonne. We break in, and instantly I'm taken aback by the sight I'm seeing. We're in an almost circular shaped room, lit by hundreds of candles, some lanterns are hung from the ceiling and there's a wooden structure with a thin, yet beautifully crafted frame. There's four or five shelves and it must hold at least a hundred candles on its own.

There's a sort of circle of names painted on the ground. Candles are by some names, and there's even a guitar by one. There's a doll by another. The whole place gives off a strange vibe and I press closer to Carl.

On the walls written in large black letters are the words

_NEVER AGAIN_

_NEVER TRUST_

_WE FIRST, ALWAYS_

"The hell is this place?" Daryl speaks my mind. He looks around warily before he turns to Rick. I squeeze Carl's hand nervously, and he looks just as unnerved. Yet, he still tries to be comforting, as he rubs his thumb back and forth against the back of my hand.

"These people," Michonne looks at us, "I don't think they're trying to kill us."

"No," Rick agrees, "They were aiming at our feet."

He looks around, "There," he says, pointing to another door, it's cracked open. Rick and Daryl dash over and someone on the other side shuts it.

_It's like they're not trying to stop us, but to show us the way._

_No Sam, that's not true._

_I'm insane, what am I talking about..._

Daryl spins around, "Here," he points and we follow.

"Go!" Rick shouts, he falls back to make sure we're all accounted for and we file through the new found exit.

The door leads to the outside and the gunfire is back, Daryl ducks his head and Michonne moves in front of Carl and I. Their shots kick up a lot of dust and dirt that gets in my eyes and make it more difficult to see. We run and jump off a small ledge. Daryl stops.

_The hell?_

_It's a dead end_.

In front of us, a row of people with guns stand up. We all freeze.

"_Now ya see how the ground here, it's sorta like a funnel shape."_

I bite my lip nervously.

"_It's a trail."_

I look around, there are sharpshooters with their rifles on the roof.

"_That's where you wanna set the noose. So you hide it with leaves, then ya set sticks all around it."_

We're surrounded.

_"That way any animal that's going by will have to run this way"_

We're just animals, following our instincts.

"_Right into the trap."_


	46. Silence

**Author's Note: **

**Hey Guys, before you read this next chapter I have a little story for you. However, if you honestly give no shits about my life then just skip the bolded parts and we'll call it even.**

**So I am visiting family who live in Georgia, and yesterday I got the very special ****opportunity (special for me... idk about the rest of y'all) to watch the Walking Dead film in downtown Atlanta. It was SO cool, probably the best day of my life so far. And the truth is, I didn't even see very much. They filmed inside this building all day long, and I caught glimpses through windows, and I did get some very interesting information that contains spoilers (so if you wanna know all about that just PM and I shall give you all the gory details (haha, gory. Because it's Walking Dead? No? Ok...))**

**I didn't actually _meet_ any of the cast (unfortunately. *sigh*) however. I did _see_ a couple of the cast members. (technically I guess this is a spoiler because it tells you who's alive, so again PM me) but I will tell y'all one thing. **

**Norman Reedus waved at me. IN HIS DARYL DIXON GEAR. I SAW THE WING VEST FOR REALS. And it wasn't like it was at some huge swarm of fangirls, I was among 3 others dudes, and I was the only waver. Needless to say, I about died. **

***cough* so that happened. Thanks for reading if you did, I have more stories, just I didn't want to write it all here, for reasons. So if you do wanna know it all just PM I'm happy to chat :)**

**Also one more announcement before we get on with the main chapter: Y'all there is no way I can possibly drag out this last little bit of A for 4 more chapters. I will end it at 48. Just so y'all know.**

**NOW, ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

* * *

They say that silence is golden. And sometimes, it is. Before I really knew Carl and I'd claim that books were my only friend, I would agree with that completely. I loved the silence. But then my dad died. And then I needed something to fill that silence. Since then, I've discovered comfortable silences. Where the silence is nice, because you share it with someone you love. But there are other silences... They are the very opposite of that comfort. They become stifling and you wonder if there will ever be even thoughts of comfort again.

We all look around at each other. Carl's staring at his dad. What do we do? What can we do? Rick looks at his son and then at me, then back at his son.

"Drop your weapons." A voice breaks through the silence, it echoes throughout the air and makes my muscles rigid, "Now."

I look at Carl and he's still looking at his dad, but the look is different now. It's like he's trying to tell him something. Then it hits me. I've seen this look before. '_I can do this_' it says.

He thinks he can kill them. He thinks he can just turn around with the Beretta and put a bullet in their brains. He's a good shot, I know he could make it, but what price would he have to pay? Even if he kills the guy on the roof, there's still more. No, I won't let him do that. I look at him and I squeeze his hand hard, he barely glances over at me and I give him a minute shake of my head and he bites down on the inside of his lips. _I'm not going to lose him_.

"Now!" The voice repeats his tone far more commanding now, I recognize it as Gareth's.

Rick looks up at the man on the roof, Carl and I have our backs to him and it makes me nervous like this. But Rick starts to crouch down, setting his Colt Python on the ground, Carl does the same. Daryl flat out drops his crossbow and knife. Rick tosses his knife to the ground too. I set my knife down and Michonne is last, looking around she gently rests her katana on the concrete.

We all stand there for a moment, glancing at each other, with no further direction. My arms are trembling slightly. I reestablish my grip on Carl's hand and he pushes his shoulder against mine and I bite down hard on my bottom lip.

"Ring leader, go to your left," Gareth instructs. I look to my right, which is Rick's left, and I spot a faded, dark red train car, with the white letter A painted onto it. Always that letter A.

"The train car. Go." Gareth continues. Rick looks, but doesn't move. Gareth notices this and increases his threat, "Do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway."

My heart drops into my stomach and it's like I can't breathe. _No, not Carl. I can't lose Carl_. I can taste blood in my mouth now but I don't care.

Rick looks at Carl, and Carl is still looking at him. I ball up my empty fist. I'm not going to let them kill Carl. I will do whatever it takes to keep him alive. I look at Rick and he looks over at me. A moment of understanding comes in between us, then Rick nods a little before turning away, walking to the train car.

"Now the archer," dictates Gareth. He means Daryl. Daryl glares at him for a moment before making his way over there.

"Now the girl." I look at Michonne, _which one of us?_ Michonne looks at me, her eyes are slightly widened.

_Oh. That's me_. I don't look up at Gareth, I just look at Carl. There's fear in his eyes, it's not a comforting sight. Reluctantly, my fingers slip out from his. I'm tempted to kiss his cheek, but I'm afraid they'll kill him because I didn't immediately comply. So I turn and I walk to the train car.

The train car isn't that far, but the walk feels long. The walk that will never end. Each step I take is a step further from Carl. That's another step I'll have to take to get back to him. I'm a step further from what it'll take to save him. My chest wells up with fear and dread. I don't want him to die. I don't want Carl to be gone.

"Now the Samurai." Gareth commands. I don't turn around to see Michonne. I'm afraid of turning around, I just keep walking. My eyes are on Daryl's vest. I focus on the wings. The angel wings. They're faded and gray from dirt and time, but they're something. They'll keep me focused. Because that's what I have to do. I have to be focused.

I hear Michonne's footsteps not too far behind me. That's how quiet it is. This silence is not one of that of comfort or peace. It is one that is deadly, and painful. The silence rips my soul apart and steals the air from my lungs.

I have to keep walking. _Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. _

_Carl's alone. He's alone. They could take him out right now. _

_Stop. Don't think like that._

_These people have been nothing but a lie to you so far. What makes you think they'll keep their word now? He's just one kid._ _They could easily just take him out and still use the rest of us for whatever it is they're taking us to a train car for. _

_Stop! _

_He's going to be ok. _

_He has to be ok._

_He Carl freaking Grimes, what the hell can't he do?_

_He will be ok._

_He has to be._

_I'm glad I told him I loved him._

Oh God. It's like he knew this might happen. He wanted to be able to say it while he still could. It feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. The dread is killing me.

_Look ahead Goddammit!_

Rick is just reaching the steps beside the train car.

"Stand at the door! Ringleader, Archer, Girl, Samurai. In that order!" Gareth calls out.

I stand between Daryl and Michonne in front of the door. I look over at Carl now. He's staring at all of us. His hands hang at his sides and my heart thumps loudly in my ears. _Oh God. Please don't shoot him now. Please don't shoot him now. _I can't imagine anything worse right now than them waiting until we're all watching just to shoot down Carl.

A bullet rings out, breaking the silence and then it hits him right between the eyes. He's gone before he can even scream. His now lifeless body crumples to the ground and the hat falls off his head. The sheriff is dead. Those beautiful eyes and that infectious smirk dimmed. Permanently.

No. That can't happen. That would be too awful.

_We're all cooperating. See? He gets to live right? _

About 5 minutes have passed, Carl stares helplessly at us. And then at me, just me, and the look in his eyes is enough for me to want to break down. The tension has only gotten higher.

Rick's had enough.

"My son!" he shouts at Gareth. Carl looks down.

My arms shake and I want to run out there and get Carl myself. As though he can read my mind, Daryl puts his arm in front of me and gives me a look that says '_no_'. I look down and make myself calm down some. The dread is replacing the oxygen in my body, and it's like I'm drowning. The fear and dread is killing me.

No, that's wrong. It's not the fear or the dread that's killing me.

Silence is the real killer.


	47. Safe

Everyone wants to feel safe, besides survival that's our main goal in life, isn't it? Find somewhere with walls so we can be _safe._ Get out of the way of walkers so we can be _safe_. That's what our parents' want- or wanted in my case- for us. Safety is how we prosper. Of course, safety isn't this new found priority. Safety is something that has driven humans as a species for millennia. From men trying to keep women and children _safe_ from threatening animals, to the government negotiating treaties and have soldiers fight overseas to keep our freedom and to keep people back home _safe_. But overall safety sometimes has to take a backseat to in-the-moment safety. You have to get yourself and the ones you love out of harms way. Sometimes, that's the most real form of safety.

"Go on Kid," Gareth tells Carl at long last. It's like I can breathe again, but then I can't again. I can't because I realize, he's not safe yet. It's a long walk over here and a lot can happen between now and then.

I grip the sleeve of Daryl's leather jacket. He pulls it away, but then rubs his hand over my back.

"'S gonna be ok," he mutters without moving his lips much. He moves his hand away and I can't look at Carl. I know he's getting closer, but I'm so scared. So much could go wrong in that walk between here and there. It makes my gut twist just thinking about it.

_He's not safe._

_He's five steps closer_. I try and remind myself.

_But he's still not safe._

_Shut. up._

"Ringleader! Open the door and go in." Gareth commands.

Rick looks up at Gareth and shouts back, "I'll go in with him."

I look up at Carl.

_He's not safe._

"Don't make us kill him now." Gareth threatens. Something like a whimper comes out of my mouth.

_No. No. No. No. Just go in Rick, just go in!_

My arms shake at my sides and I look at Carl. He's looking at his dad, his expression is nothing but full blown terror.

_No. Carl_. My heart thumps so loudly over the raging silence I'm sure Gareth can hear it.

Rick looks at Carl and then back at the car. He knows what he has to do.

Once he's sure Carl is close enough, he mounts the first step. Carl's walk is slow and stiff, and I can hear his footsteps and he's only halfway over.

_He's not safe._

Rick goes up a couple of steps and then with a visible amount of effort, he opens the train car door. It opens with a large rattle and clanking of metal. He takes one last look at his son and steps in. Then Daryl walks up the steps.

_Oh God I'm next. _

I cast a hasty glance at Carl, he's looking at me now and he's still got that look of peril on his face. My legs forget how to move for a second and I look back and Daryl's already in the car. They're looking at me.

_Shit._

I look down as I walk up the steps. I've always done it, this isn't something that's new. It's always been more of a habit, probably due to a lack of self confidence in a crowd and the general effect of being fairly shy mixed with fairly clumsy. Soon I'm in the car and I go stand by Rick and Daryl. Michonne is not too far behind, as she steps into the car she's looking back at Carl.

_He's not safe._

We're all in and we're just waiting for Carl now. Daryl guides me back to the corner of the train car, probably taking safety measures to make sure I don't try and run out to Carl like I considered before. Truth is, I don't think I could even if I tried, my body doesn't want to work with my head anymore. Everything is mixed up and has just taken to being frozen in place. We stand at the back corner and we watch the entrance. Rick and Michonne wait by the door for Carl.

I wanna be there. God, I can't stand this tension.

I'm trembling, _where is he? Shouldn't he be here by now? God, please just let him get in here safely._

_He's not safe._

I hear someone coming up the steps and then Carl emerges. Rick puts his hand in a protective gesture at the back of Carl's neck. They start walking over and the door is closing behind them.

_He's safe_.

I can't contain what I can only describe as pure relief any longer. Even though Daryl has a grip on my arm, I pull away and launch myself at Carl, nearly tackling him in a hug. I greedily clutch at the back of his hoodie, I have two fistfuls of the dark blue material. His arms wrap around me, gripping my back. Like he can't believe he's holding me, this is a mutual feeling. His breath is shaky in my ear.

I want to say something, but at the moment I'm just trying to keep myself together. _He's here. I can hold him. They can't hurt him anymore. Oh God, I'm so glad you're here. _I silently tell him, _I love you, I love you, I love you._

"You're safe," passes my lips in a breathy way. I squint my eyes shut and swallow hard. I'm almost in disbelief that I can actually hug him again. _He's not dead. He made it. _It's like the nightmare is over.

_It's only begun._ A voice reminds me in the back of my head.

_Screw you, I can think about that later._

"Yeah, it's ok." he promises he's still not pulling away, if anything he's holding me tighter. I like feeling his chin resting on my shoulder as my face buries into his own.

"Aren't you gonna say I told you so," the truth comes out. He was right. He knew Terminus was bad news and now I've got hell to pay for it.

He shakes his head and finally pulls away a little, "No." he shakes his head again. The look in his eyes tell me that this conversation is not over, but it also says we're done for now.

My ears pick up movement from the other side of the train car. But it's so dark I can't make out anything. There's a crack in the top of the train car that lets in a thin stream of light. I hear footsteps come closer, and then a voice. It sounds familiar, but soft and uncertain, maybe just a bit broken, "Rick?"

* * *

Hey guys, sorry for the short chapter. I have two more chapters written out for this story. And in more exciting news, I can confirm the spin-off will happen and I have the first chapter written out. Thanks to all who voted or put in their opinion! Thanks to everyone for reading!


	48. Family Reunions

I never cared much for family reunions. Always filled with more uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents than you knew even existed. It was always the same thing, pinch your cheeks, say 'my, how much you've grown', 'how old are you now?', I tell them my age, 'oh goodness? Already? I can't believe how big you've gotten'. Then you nod, smile sweetly, move on, repeat the process and hope that the food is decent. I generally found a corner, pulled out the book I'd been squirreling away and read until one of my parents screamed my name telling me it's time to go. I feel terrible now that I neglected the true purpose of a family reunion, seeing as they're probably all dead. But I can't go back and change anything. I just have to hope I haven't seen my last family reunion.

_Glenn?_

_Glenn._

_Glenn!_

My heart races with excitement. It's almost a sick kind of excitement, because I'm here trapped in a train car with who knows what fate lying ahead, yet we're reunited, so I'm happy.

He came to Terminus, just like Maggie wanted.

_Maggie. _

_Is she here too?_

Alongside of Glenn's newly visible figure appears Maggie, and then on his other side, Sasha.

_No Bob?_

_I see no Bob._

_Yes, they lost him!_

_I mean... that's just too bad._

"You're here," Rick says, his voice is somewhere between surprised and relieved. He steps forward and looks around, he gives a little nod, "You're here." he repeats. He's speaking the minds of us all._ They're here, they're alive._ How many I cannot be for certain. But at least they aren't among the meatless skeletons we saw.

More people are appearing from the blackness that bathes the other half of the train car. I am certain that to them we too are partially painted in the unforgiving darkness.

_Is that?_

_No it can't be._

_Son of a bitch._

_Bob made it._

_Goddammit, I thought I finally had one good thing going._

Also appearing are three people I've never met before. A woman who's hair is in pigtails with her arms crossed. A large man with orange hair and a handlebar mustache. A guy that looks like he used to live in his mom's basement with a mullet and a belly that makes me jealous. He's certainly not gone very hungry. He also gives off a vibe that I'm not quite sure how I feel about.

The silence of the place is as thick as the darkness and it makes me shift uneasily on my feet.

One more person emerges, she isn't a total stranger. I recognize her vaguely; she was one of the Governor's men. Instantly my gut plunges and I push closer into Carl his arm around my body squeezes me in a comforting way.

Rick clearly looks at the girl and then at Maggie and Glenn, his body language reflects that of reluctance and uncertainty. All understandable things considering what we've just been through. His eyes dart around examining the other strangers. Maggie looks back at the girl and then took Rick.

"They're our friends," she states clearly

More silence. My breath shudders past my lips uncertainly as I look around at the family I arrived with and the family I've reunited with.

_You wanted this. You wanted the family to be whole again._

_Not like this. Never like this._

_Besides, we're still missing a few parts to the Prison Family. Carol, Tyreese, Beth._

_Are they even still alive?_

_Shut up! You've come too far to think like this!_

_And where has it gotten you?_

I shake my head and get back to the real world, like that's much better.

"They helped save us," Maggie continues

Daryl tips his head a little towards them, "Yeah, now they're friends of ours." well I'm sold; Daryl's given them the seal of approval. _But really, what other choice do we have?_

Handlebar mustache man speaks up from the back of the crowd, "For however long that'll be." he grimaces pessimistically.

_How did they end up in here? Did they see the yard of skeletons? How long have they been here?_

The place smells of stale urine and despair, so I decide it's been a bit. As for the other two questions, only God knows what they've seen and been through.

Handlebar turns around and Rick speaks up.

"No," he says. Everyone gives Rick questionable glances; they shift on their feet and study him curiously. Rick fades for a moment, as though he's caught up in a memory. Then he's back. He looks around at each and every one of us. Though his eyes linger most on Carl. He walks over towards the locked door and glances through a slit in the wall. After a moment longer he glances back at us.

"They're gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out." he remarks

"Find out what?" Handlebar turns back and looks at Rick. My eyes flit around, first to Glenn. His expression is set with determination. Then Sasha who's wanting to know the plan but at the same time has a bit of uncertainty about her look. Michonne looks about ready to throw down and Daryl has a very kickass vibe as he looks to Rick, ready for his next words. Carl studies his father, curious and yet, still trying to get over the thoughts that fumble up his mind. He still looks a bit scared, probably still not fully recovered from the ordeal we've just been through. I hope I look ready for what Rick has to stay, that I exude the confidence that Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn do, that I'm ready for action and ready for revenge. A look that says I'm not gonna let anybody take me down.

But I probably don't, I probably look terribly frightened and fearful for what's to come.

One can dream.

In a very clear, threatening tone, Rick looks to us, "They're screwin' with the wrong people."

My, what a family reunion this will become.


	49. Love

I'll be the first to admit that I'm only 15, and yes, I'm probably too young for love. That I don't know what love really feels like, and it's just a stage, and I'm hormonal and I'm a teenager. But I also know that I've had to grow up pretty damn fast in this shit hole of a world, and that I know in my every being I'd do whatever it takes to keep Carl alive. There's a certain driving passion behind this desire and I'd say that's a pretty decent definition of love. But hey, maybe I'm wrong. However, I'll settle for what I'm feeling now, and if I'm wrong my feelings will grow with time.

Glenn approaches me after a moment; Carl has gone to talk to his dad about who knows what.

_Is it bad that I know what's coming?_

"So, you and Carl huh?" Glenn jokes, his eyes go from me to Carl to back at me.

_Nailed it._

I wince, even though I predicted this, "Was it that obvious?"

Glenn pops a surprisingly playful eyebrow for our current situation, "You and him, you guys were, uh, pretty close. I'd think it was stranger if you two _weren't _a thing."

_Is this really the time?_

"Should I know how you two got together?" he gives me a look and I remember the stories of how he and Maggie started out.

_Not quite like __**that**__. _

I shrug indifferently, "We had become friends shortly before we lost the prison, and then we got out together. It just... happened." is the only way I know how to explain it.

"And Rick's ok with all this?" Glenn's eyes move to Rick for a moment.

I look down and shrug meekly, "I guess he's accepted it, I mean I can't really say whether or not he's ok with it. Carl is the only blood he's got left."

It feels so dumb and pointless to be discussing my relationship with Carl at a time like this, particularly with someone I wasn't buddy- buddy with back at the prison. I mean I knew Glenn and I respected him and all, but we weren't all that close.

But then again, with such weight this situation brings, maybe we should discuss something a little more light. It's a distractor, and sometimes we need that.

Something new comes to mind, and I start to wonder, "Glenn, do you ever wonder if you really love Maggie?"

"What? Of course I-"

I cut him off, I probably asked the dumb question wrong, I stick my hand up, "I didn't mean it like that. I meant, do you think if it wasn't the apocalypse, but you had still met Maggie, do you think you two would've fallen in love and gotten married?" I search for my words, "Or do you think you only love each other because we haven't really got a choice left and we kind of have to?"

Glenn looks at me strangely and cocks his head, thinking about it. I'd like to think it's not an unreasonable question. He opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it again. He's truly puzzled, "Yes. I think that we really did fall in love with each other, not just the fact that we don't really have much variety. I'd like to think that this whole thing brought us together, and was fate in a strange kind of way. I don't think it was a forced thing at all." there's some power behind his words, but there's still uncertainty, like that's what he wants to believe, but he'll never know for sure, "Do you think you're in love with Carl? Do you think you really love him, or are you just settling?"

Instantly I want to retort angrily back at Glenn, because of course I love Carl. _Don't I?_ But then my head starts thinking and I start to rethink my hasty actions.

I think about it, and then when I'm ready, I respond, "Yeah. I think I do. I mean, I'm young right? I shouldn't have to settle? It's not like I have plans for the ultimate goal of pairing off any time soon." _Besides who wouldn't fall for Carl Grimes? Am I right?_

Glenn presses his lips together into a thin line, "Well, just be good to Carl, alright? That kid is like family to me, I'd hate to see something happen to him. Not that I think you would, but just know." he nods at me and then turns and walks away. I walk a few paces to the wall of the train car, I slide my back down against the cold metal until I'm sitting down with my arms wrapped around my bent legs.

I sit there for a bit and I just think,_ how the hell are we gonna get out of here? __**Are**__ we gonna make it out of here?_

_Of course we will, we have Rick and Daryl. We're getting out of here._

My arms get tense with stress and I tell myself to stop worrying about the things I can't control. I'm not gonna be the one to bust us out of here. I'm the kid again, I have to sit back and wait for the adults to do this for me. And I hate it.

_Quit. Think about something else._

So I do.

After a bit, Carl comes over to me and he sits down beside me. I look at him and he looks at me.

"Happy Birthday," I elbow him lightly

He narrows his eyes at me with utter confusion, "What?"

"Happy Birthday," I repeat with probably more enthusiasm than I should possess at times like this.

He cocks his head, "Where the hell did you get that one from?"

I clear my throat and turn to him, "So I've been thinking."

Carl nods, "Yeah, I'd figure that's not exactly a new concept for you, bookworm." he teases, but his enthusiasm doesn't seem as pure, like he's trying to force it.

"You gonna let me continue, sheriff?" I throw that nickname back at him. He nods and I roll my eyes, "So, the way I see it, you're 15 now. Hence the 'Happy Birthday'."

He narrows his eyes suspiciously, "How do you know?"

"Well we lost the prison two and a half, three weeks ago. Then a week before that my dad died. And a month before that, you found me at my place on the roof when I nearly fell off. And a week before that I turned fifteen. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but about all that time adds up to about 2 months. And if you remember correctly, you are exactly 2 months younger than I am. So that puts you at your birthday right about now." I beam at him. I use my hands to give an emphasizing gesture, "Happy Birthday! Need I say more?"

He chuckles and shakes his head, "You are ridiculous."

I lift a single eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"You are ridiculous," he clarifies, "we are stuck in a train car. Death looming however close. And here you are telling me happy freaking birthday," he shakes his head, but he's got this slight smirk.

"Would you rather I had said happy death day?" instantly I'm filled with regret, but he plays it off, so the unbearable weight in my chest becomes slightly more bearable.

"One, I'd rather you not. Two, you don't that for sure." Carl fires right back.

I shrug, my point being proven. However I do continue on, "The way I see it, you can be depressing and let the world weigh you down with its deep conflicted sorrows and narrowly looming death. Or you can think about things that are a little less... dark... like how time passes or love or birthdays or books. Whatever helps keep you away from the dark places." Though I might add we are most certainly stuck in one.

It's strange to preach the thoughts that have just crossed into my mind. Not ten, fifteen minutes ago was I questioning Glenn for his same actions.

Carl chuckles again, with that slow, slight shake of his head. He looks at me and his blue eyes bore into mine, "You're amazing."

"I thought I was ridiculous?" I counter

"You are ridiculously amazing." He compromises, "God I wish I could think like that."

My gut drops like a rock. Guilt, anger, regret, pain, and so many more emotions surge throughout my body, "Carl." my tone has done a complete 180°, and now I'm quiet and scared.

He looks at me curiously, and his hand finds mine, "What is it, Sam?"

"I… I heard you earlier… when you were talking to Michonne, before all this-" I gesture to everything around me, "went down."

Carl's tone cracks a bit and he looks down, "How much?"

I swallow uneasily, "Enough," I nod firmly at him

He bites his lower lip and his dark eyebrows furrow together, "Sam, that's not an answer," he shakes his head at me and grips my hand a little harder, almost desperately, "How much did you hear?"

I remain adamant, "Enough." I repeat, not letting him get the opportunity to get a more specific answer, I continue on, "And Carl, I gotta tell you. I don't agree with what you said."

He draws back a little and his tightly knit brows go up in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I let out a sigh, my tone drops and I keep my eyes on his, "I don't think you're a monster. I don't see you as a monster, no one sees you as a monster. We all think terrible, monstrous things. And we all do shit we ain't proud of. But those things they don't make you a monster, because we regret our actions, and... and we get to come back Carl." I look at him, but he's not quite looking back at me.

"That doesn't make us monsters, it makes us human. Just because we're human, that doesn't mean we're humane. But we can do things, that redeem ourselves, that prove to us that deep inside, we aren't too far gone. It proves to us that we're still good, and I think that's fantastic. To just be able to come back and while yes, we do have to live with ourselves, we also know that there is a good inside of us." my empty hand moves to his chest and rests gently against it, "You know how I know you aren't a monster?"

He gives me a puzzled look.

"Because you love Carl. You love your dad, and you love Michonne, you love Daryl, you love me. All in their respective ways. Monsters don't love Carl, you do. And it's not through declarations of said love. It's the way you treat people and protect them. And I see you doing that, you love them Carl. That's what made the Governor a monster. You want an example of a monster? There's a hell of a good one. He didn't regret Carl, a man like that, doing the things he did over and over. There was no regret, there was no love. Or maybe there was at some point, and it drove him to be that way. But in the end he was a monster." there's a heated passion of hatred behind my tone, I'd argue it's with good reason.

"I don't look at you and think the Governor. Because you're trying Carl, you're trying to be better. I've watched you change as a person Carl. I've watched it happen. From when I first arrived from Woodbury, you were cold and hard and you wanted nothing to do with us. You hated us, you didn't have to say it, I could see it. Then you were this farmer boy and I could tell you didn't want it, but you still tried for your dad, because you love him. And you came back. You killed that boy, but you came back. Hell, I killed that man in the bathroom because he tried for my chest. You don't think I feel regret for that? I know you feel regret for killing that boy, you told me so. The Governor, he never tried. He never regretted. You think he regretted killing my mom, or Noah? No! He just killed and killed and-" I dig my nails into my palm,_ calm down child. This is not about you. You're trying to make him feel better, remember?_

"He was a monster, but you, you're not. You're just Carl, and I love that." I give him the teeniest of smiles, the corners of my mouth are just turned up, "We can't be perfect anymore Carl. We can't all be good people. Hell, none of us fit the old definition for 'good people'. Because we do things that are terrible and vile and are by no means decent or honorable. But we do them to survive. Do you remember what you told me when I killed that member of Joe's group? I was for sure that you were gonna hate me, or you already did, and we were never become anything more than two people with each other only for the sake of survival. I thought I had lost every chance at actually having some merit in your eyes. I took my chances though, and I told you. I hated myself and thought you would too, but you said 'I was a survivor, not a killer. There's a difference.' and there is. Lord knows there is," God help me I'm rambling now, but I'm off on a tangent and show no signs of stopping any time soon.

"And you're that survivor, Carl. You do what you have to so you keep living. We're survivors, it's what we do. Survive. Nothing more. Nothing less. And it's not beautiful, or unique, or special. It's just what we have to do. I think that's how we're gonna make it out of here. Because we do what it takes for survival. I don't have to worry and stress over the 'whether or not' factor, because we are. Let's face it, we're with the right people to get the hell out of here. Now it's just a matter of time."

Carl nods, but doesn't really respond. I hope that helped some, I hope he knows that he's more than he's making himself out to be. But in the end I can't change him, I can only help.

It's silent for a while and I'm left to quibble with my thoughts again. _How. How after all this time, after all I've been through, do I still manage to fall for a fool's dream? Everyone else had their doubts. Why didn't you listen to them?_

"I'm sorry I was such a dumbass and I didn't believe you," I mumble to Carl, he's sitting next to me, legs stretched out in front of him. One arm wraps around my side, pulling me into him. My head rests gently on his shoulder.

"It's alright, you weren't a dumbass, I get why you believed in it… hell they had me going for a while," he turns his head to look at me. Even in the dim lighting, his eyes are bright as they look at me. I don't get it. He has every right to tell me off about how dumb I was. That he was right, I was wrong. I want him to go off on me. Yet, he keeps his cool.

"But it's not," I protest, still trying to stay calm, "I should've listened to you. I should've listened to everyone around me. I should have had a shred of doubt for this place. But no. I was too goddamn gullible. I wanted to believe in a fantasy, and even when the red flags shot up, I shot them right back down. From the moment we saw that Terminus sign, I should've started questioning things. You did, I should've thought that you were on to something and that my stubbornness was only going to get us killed. And it nearly did."

"Sam, it could have been any of us. You wanted to believe in something good. It's understandable. Your gut was wrong once. It happens to the best of us. Please don't beat yourself up over this," he begs. He has that look in his eyes again, when he told Michonne that he thought he was just another monster. It makes my heart ache and I don't know how to respond, so I let it drop. But he doesn't.

"Sam, let's be honest. If we hadn't followed those railroad tracks I might never have seen my dad again. I would've gone on believing he was dead and hating him for it," _now you hate him, or are otherwise afraid for an entirely different reason_, "It was our best shot. On that front you were right, you said that my dad would go. And he did, and we found him and Michonne and Daryl. You told me this, and I didn't listen. Just like you didn't listen to me. And we're not always going to listen to each other, but that's ok. And maybe things aren't looking so sunny right now, and yeah you were wrong, once. But you're gonna be right again, because that's just you. This one thing won't be the end of you and I wish you wouldn't treat it that way."

I bow my head and he uses the arm that's around me to rub my arm. We fade back to silence and I've stopped thinking really and I'm just staring, but Carl's back out of his funk and breaks our silence.

"So I'm 15, right?" Carl smirks at me and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry I, uh, didn't getcha anything. I'm a little confined right now and my resources are less than minimal. Had I known though, I'd totally have been prepared." I joke around, trying to be light again.

"Well I never got you anything when you turned 15 so I guess that puts us about even." Carl shrugs.

I turn and look at him and I poke his chest, "When we get out of here, I'm raiding the first store we come across and I'm getting you something."

Carl's smirk turns into a smile and his eyes are light and kind as they hold me, "Yes, definitely. We shall raid the store together and find each other respective gifts." he clears his throat, "So anyway, I'm 15 now. So that means I can drive, right?"

"No," I shake my head, with a smirk of my own. I'm teasing of course, but he doesn't have to know that, "No, no, no. No, no. No."

"Excuse me?" one playful brow pops up, "You're 15 and you're driving." he blatantly points out.

_Psh. Psh._ "I drove because of circumstance, buddy. I was the oldest and thusly I filled the roll of driver."

"You know," Carl casts me a look, "if we were still living in the old world, I would be driving."

I roll my eyes, "You'd be learning."

"Still." Carl nudges me, "Well I gotta learn sometime, will you teach me?"

"Man, I just know how to go and not crash, and I'm only 1 for 1 on the second part. Why don't you ask your dad to teach you?" I suggest, trying to get him back on the path towards his dad.

He gives me a look like 'is this really the time', to which I shrug, "Hey Dad!" Carl calls, Rick turns around, he wasn't really talking to anyone anyhow. He takes those few steps over towards us and crouches down so he's more on our level.

"Yeah, Carl?" he tries to hide his overwhelming exhaustion, always for his son.

"So Sam here did some fancy math things and figured out that I'm 15 now. So, do you think you could teach me how to drive?" Carl asks, lifting his eyebrows hopefully.

Rick runs his hand over his beard, "Well, I'd figure right now might not be the best time." he uses a light tone on his son's sake, "But once we get out of here, maybe find a real place to call home, and a car. Sure, I'll teach ya, it's good to know in case we ever get separated," _again_. I silently add, because I was the one who had to fill that void last time.

"Ok Dad," Carl nods, grinning with excitement. And I see the love Rick has in his eyes for his son. Even in the darkest of times, love will help us through to carry on to brighter lives.

* * *

**A/N: The spinoff is out now so please check it out!**


	50. Sanctuary

In the beginning, we searched for sanctuary. And I'm not talking about 'when the dead started to eat people' beginning, I'm talking the _very _beginning. Neanderthals, with their cave drawings and hunting and the like. They sought each other, and they sought safety. In short, they sought sanctuary. But sanctuary is a lie. You're not safe. You're never safe. You make think you are, but there's always danger. There is no such thing as true sanctuary.

The winter wind blows against my chapped lips and makes my teeth chatter as I peek through the small slit between the wooden boards to the outside. It didn't take long for Rick and them to form a plan, the fullness of the plan was never fully disclosed to me, but I knew enough to get by. We made weapons. They aren't much, they won't get us far. But our anger, our desire for vengeance will carry us the rest of the way. I didn't have much in the way of convertible weapons. The best I've got is a sharpened piece of wood tied to my knife sheath with a shoe lace. And once that was done, they put me on watch duty. I don't mind, it's something isn't it? I'm useful, needed. I keep that in mind as the wind pushes through cracks and then through my skin, chills dancing across my body, leaving me wondering if I'll ever feel warm again.

"You hangin' in there kid?" Daryl's hand goes to my shoulder, and I flinch at first. I'm on edge. Can you blame me though? I bite my tongue and I tell myself to calm down. I don't turn around to reply, there could be movement at any moment.

"Yeah, I'll make it." I confirm, making sure to keep it at a whisper, we're trying to minimize noise, "I can't wait to get out of here and show those sons of bitches a thing or two." I grumble. My numb fingers clench into fists and tighten my grasp around the makeshift knife.

"How about you lemme take over here and you go warm up some, huh? Maybe help Michonne out? You got me?" Daryl says it like it's a proposition, but his eyes reveal that I don't have a choice and this is an order.

I nod and I step away, walking over to Carl and Michonne. They're wrapping strips of fabric around her katana sheath, attaching two shafts of wood, making the weapon deadly on both sides.

"Need any help?" I squat in front of the two.

Michonne shakes her head, "We've got it."

I'm about to nod back when I hear voices from outside. Immediately everyone's attention flashes to the door.

"Alright, got four of their pricks comin' our way," Daryl announces and my muscles tense up. This is it. This is our shot. Time to get to work.

"You all know what to do," growls Rick as he walks towards us, leaving his little carving project, "Go for their eyes first." We all get our feet, makeshift weapons in hand, "Then their throats." in any other case, what we were about to do would be considered so intolerably evil, that not even the devil would let us through his doors. But we had to do this. We have to survive.

_Never Again._

I stand beside Carl, my fingers drum anxiously against the sheath of my knife.

_Never Trust._

"Put your backs to the walls on either end of the car. Now!" More noise from the outside fills my ears, and I'm on the balls of my feet.

_We First. Always._

That's when the very unexpected happens. The hatch on top of the cart opens, and sunlight seeps through, momentarily blinding us all. Then something drops. I take a moment to study the object. Is that...?

"Move!" commands Abraham and we all run away from the-

_BOOM! _Cries the air as the smoke bomb goes off. I can't see anything and I must rely on my other senses around me.

_What do I hear?_ I hear a lot. I hear the coughs of my friends and I hear the opening of what must be the metal door. I force my eyes open, only to see the grayness of the smoke.

_What do I smell?_ I smell smoke. _Duh_.

_What do I taste?_ Smoke. Still smoke. I let out a terrible cough as the smoke fills my lungs and continues to disarm me on more than one level.

_What do I feel?_ I feel something... someone latches around my empty hand and pull me backwards until my back thumps against the wall. I still can't see, and there's too much noise to properly hear, but judging by the roughness and size of the hand, it must be Carl.

The smoke thins out some; the door opening gives it more space to expand to. I see silhouettes now, as the smoke stings my eyes and I continue to cough. I force my eyes open every few seconds, with my arm raised, ready to stab or slash anything that comes near me. The silhouettes take some of our silhouettes away, and I start to charge after them, enraged, but one of their men, one who isn't taking away someone shoves me backwards.

"Your time will come," the figure growls ominously. I'm pushed back into Carl, and I start back towards the figure again, and then I feel Carl's front against my back and I make out him saying, "Not now. It'll only be worse now." I reluctantly resign, and then the door is shut again. Our opportunity is lost, but I have a feeling it won't be the last time we get one.

It takes a long time before I can keep my eyes open and take a breath without wheezing. But it doesn't take a long time to figure out who's gone. Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and Bob. _Why Bob?_ I can't help but wonder. _What's he good for?_

Then again_, what are they doing to any of them? _

More people take watch now, Maggie's worried about Glenn, Sasha's worried about Bob, Abraham wants out. It's all the same feeling that fills the air that gives us hope, but brings us down at the same time.

Carl is standing beside me, working on something, though I can't quite tell what. The light isn't good over here.

Then we hear the shots. Then the explosion.

I'm up on my feet after sitting down for a while and I join the rest of my group, while Carl just stays there and watches.

"What the hell's going on?" demands Abraham, he slams his fists against the sides of the train car as if that'll do any good.

"Someone hit 'em," says Rosita, she's the girl in the pigtails. Her conversion of hoop earrings to shanks is quite commendable, though I doubt I'll ever understand why she wore them in the first place.

"Maybe some of our people got free," suggests Sasha optimistically. _Not your boyfriend, hon. At least not on his own._

The man with the mullet, named Eugene (as if the mullet wasn't bad enough, his name was Eugene), pushes past the girl with the short dark hair named Tara, I remember her from when Hershel died. Wonder how she ended up here, "Excuse me." he mutters, heading towards the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" scoffs Tara

Not stopping to with what he's doing, Eugene explains while he works, "I might be able use this shell to compromise the door." then he continues grimly, "From the sound of things, there might not be anyone left to open the door."

_Let's be a little more hopeful that than, huh, buddy?_

He starts babbling again when Tara cuts him off, "Eugene, I'm sorry but shut up." she leans towards the walls just slightly as though she's trying to hear what's going on outside. My eyes dart from Tara to Michonne and then to Abraham and back to Michonne. In this situation, I know I should look to Abraham for the authority, but I trust Michonne more.

"Hey," calls Carl, walking away from whatever task he was working on before and comes up beside me, his hand barely brushing mine, "my dad's gonna be back. They all are." my heart aches at his confidence, but in a good way. He's changing again; he believes in his dad, the faith is there. _Maybe he doesn't believe he's a monster anymore? _Maybe that's a bit too far,_ but I can hope, right?_

I grab his hand, lacing my fingers with his and I give him a reassuring smile.

"They are," Maggie agrees, she stands a couple feet behind us, "And we need to be ready to fight our way out with them, when they do." and somehow their words lighten the air some.

I sit back down, with my back against the wall, staring at the door in front of me. The chills still run through my body, and my nose is numb. Michonne is taking watch now, I watch her for signs of the outside. I can hear the terror going on beyond these walls. The screams, the moans, the hopeless gun shots that reverberate and echo through the air. But it's not enough; by the volume of the moans I know it's too many. Terminus is falling. Good riddance, I say. I can only hope that Rick and Daryl are making it through. I look to Carl who's sitting beside me, fingers drumming against the empty holster where his Beretta should be. He stares ahead, lost in thought. He must believe his dad will come back. Why wouldn't he? He's always come back before.

The silence that isn't truly silence becomes unbearable and Sasha does her best to fill it, "The cure Eugene." she asks Eugene, maybe she's feeding her own curiosities.

Ah yes, the cure. The thing that makes this mullet-bearing, somehow-overweight-in-this-world man actually worth something. Because he's a scientist, and he knows the cure. Maybe it's just me, but this man doesn't actually seem like the save the world-scientist type. And I know as of late, my instincts haven't been on point, but I just don't like the vibes this guy is giving off.

And how come he's the only one that knows how the cure? And why can't he tell us?

"That's classified," he replies blankly, must be a standard response; he doesn't even bother to look up from his work.

Michonne shakes her head, "You don't know what's gonna happen."

Then Abraham steps in, "You leave him be." his words seem simple, but his expression is threatening, and I hold back a chuckle, because Michonne could shish-kabob him before he could even blink.

Before anything else can happen, Maggie interjects with her calm tone, "We need to keep workin'."

"Yeah," Sasha agrees, "But it's time to know the truth." she glares at Eugene, not planning to look away any time soon, "'Cause we don't know what's next." she points out.

"What's next is we get out of this." Tara states frankly, covering up for Eugene.

Eugene takes a moment and looks up from his work, "Even if I told you all, even if I provided step by step instructions, complete with illustrations, and a well composed FAQ, and I went red-ring, the cure would still die with me."

See, it's that kind of response that makes me think he's hiding something. Way too wordy, like he's trying to outsmart us. _Well here's a tip, mullet-man, if there's one crowd of people you aren't going to outsmart, it's us._

"I'm not gonna let the happen," Abraham shakes his head, studying the wooden spike in his hand.

Eugene gives Abraham a grim 'get real' look, "In the best-case scenario, we step out into a hellstorm of bullets, fire, and walkers. I'm not fleet of foot." he looks down solemnly, "I sure as hell can't take a dead one down with sharp buttons and hella confidence."

"Yeah, but we can, and we will." Michonne reassures him, gazing over her make-shift double sided sword.

Sasha stands, "You don't owe us anything, not yet." her face gets real serious- real scary if I'm being honest, "But we need to hear it."

"You don't have to." Rosita tries to tell him.

I frown, "Oh come on!" I blurt out without really intending to, my emotions overtaking what I know is right, "Give us an inkling into how we're going to stop the dead from walking, that's all we're asking!"

A moment after my interjection, and some staring at the wooden floor, he stands, turning to address all of us, "I was part of a 10-person team at the Human Genome Project to weaponize diseases to fight weaponized diseases. Pathogenic microorganisms with pathogenic microorganisms." he explains, "Fire with fire." I see Carl's head pop up from the corner of my eye, I cross my arms, eyes narrowed, I'm still not convinced. Then Eugene continues, "Interdepartmental drinks were had, relationships made, information shared. I am keenly aware of all the details behind fail-safe delivery systems to kill every living person on this planet. I believe with a little tweaking on the terminals in DC, we can flip the script. Take out every last dead one of them." my ears tune out the rest of what he says.

_Fire with fire._

_Is that possible? Could that really happen? Or is it more likely said 'system' would wipe out what's left of this pitiful human race?_

I bite my lip and study the man. I bet he plays a mean game a poker. Excellent at bluffing.

He smirks and I catch the last of his little spiel, "All things being equal, it does sound pretty badass."

"So let's get back to work," Maggie encourages, I'm sure the weight of her husband's fate lies far heavier than whatever cure this man may or may not have. Though I must admit, he sounds pretty convincing.

We stand around for a moment longer when I hear a banging outside of the boxcar door. Carl's up on his feet and runs toward the entrance, the door flies open and there stands Rick, rifle in hand, a war going on behind him, "C'mon! Fight to the fence!"

Abraham screams instructions, "Do not leave his side!" probably to Rosita or Tara, but I don't bother to check, there's too much chaos around me. I charge out the door, makeshift knife in one hand. I jump out after Carl, he has a brief reunion with his father, but it's over fast, just enough to know that each other are alive- and at the moment well.

It's a flurry of blood and moans, gunshots that ring in my ears rendering me deaf. Smoke fills the air, clogging up my lungs and obscuring my vision. Carl's hand finds mine and we guide each other through this dying hell. I launch my knife into the forehead of a dead one, I wrench my hand back and it crumples to the ground, Carl kicks one in the knees and then crushes its skull with his boot. Each kill must be quick and precise so that we don't hold up the forward progression. My breaths are raspy with each gulp of smoky air I breathe in. The adrenaline courses thickly through me, willing me to live. Willing me to make it to that fence.

There are so many walkers, the smell is putrid and their innards are everywhere. I take down another one, its blood spews everywhere and stains my hands, I feel its sticky warmth on my face. I run on, following Carl. We're nearly there, _nearly_. Michonne's spearing one walker through its temple, but there's another coming up behind her. I yell at Carl and point, he lets go and I dash the other way, seeing one going after Eugene. I grab it by the collar and get it in the back of the head. He looks at me with some expression of mixed horror and relief. I carry on, that fence is just yards away.

"Let's go!" barks Abraham over the roar, "Let's move!" Rosita goes first, then Eugene. I hear bullets being fired behind me, I notice Rick has stayed back, and then I look to the roof and see Gareth and his men, Rick fires the gun, and I long for one. He hits Gareth and his men duck down. I turn back to what should be my main priority and I see Carl's slipping over the other side, Abraham motions for me to go. I jump up and sling my leg over the fence. Just the way I arrived. I roll over and fall to the other side, landing rather ungracefully onto my back. The impact stings, but I'll be alright.

Carl helps me to my feet, just as Maggie comes over. Michonne, Bob, and Sasha are already on this side as well. Next comes Glenn, then Daryl, then Rick, and last is Abraham, just as the walkers are closing in.

We don't waste a moment to even catch our breath, as soon as we're all over the fence, we're walking through the woods, Daryl's leading the way, searching for our supplies no doubt. Finally he stops, "Here." he motions to a branch or something, then he's kneeling, uncovering a cleverly hidden shovel. He tosses it to Rick and I huddle by Carl, shivering in the exposed cold. His fingers are interlaced tightly with my own, his head leans slightly against mine, providing some warmth and comfort, but we're both more interested in the supplies that are about to be uncovered.

Abraham marches up, obviously unclear about what's going on, "The hell are we still around here for?" he demands. I glare at the man when his back is turned to me, he's too edgy for my taste.

Rick's reply is much more carefully placed, but still guarded, "Guns, some supplies." then he stands up to give instructions, "Go along the fences. Use the rifles. Take out the rest of 'em." his tone leaves no room for questions or options, but dispute is still thrown out anyway.

"What?" Bob walks forward. _Of course it's Bob._

Rick stares at him with strict intentions, "They don't get to live."

Glenn takes a moment, knowing how this man works, "Rick, we got out. It's over."

Rick plucks his Colt Python from the bag of weapons, checking the cylinder for bullets, "It's not over till they're all dead." he states plainly.

Rosita speaks up, "The hell it isn't. That place is on fire. Full of walkers."

Abraham shakes his head at Rick, his leader instincts kicking in, "I'm not dicking around with this crap. We just made it out."

"The fences are down." Maggie points out evenly, "They'll run or die."

Rick starts to think, studying the ground, considering the possibilities.

I hear the crunching of leaves behind me, and I turn around. My eyes flash open wide, in disbelief of what beholds before them.

_She's dead._

_It can't be. _

_I'm seeing things._

Then Daryl runs and embraces her, and I know she's real. "Carol." I mumble, a small smile spreads across my face and I feel tears of joy start to form in my eyes. Dad entrusted her to watch over me while he was out on runs back at the prison. She was a mother figure to me. I hadn't realized how much I missed her until she was here again.

Daryl finally releases Carol after a long, heartfelt embrace, and then he rests his head on her shoulder and his torso shudders a little as she holds his neck. I swear, Daryl Dixon looks like he's about to cry. After they separate, Rick approaches her, he cocks his head, "Did you do that?" _Could he be talking about Terminus? Is he suggesting that Carol destroyed Terminus?_

I see how tattered and bloody she looks, but her eyes gleam with pride as she gives a nod. They hug too, and when Carol opens her eyes, there's a moment of relief in her expression.

I can't stand it any longer, just as Rick and Carol separate I run up and hug her too.

"Hey kiddo," she sniffs, the emotion of what I can only imagine as relief overcomes her.

"I missed you," my words are uneven as my face presses into her shoulder. I'm having to bite my tongue to suppress the tears that beg to flow. I let go, but I stand close to her, never wanting to leave her side again.

She looks to Rick, "You have to come with me."

We follow her up the road to where it ends at a small wooden shack. A man walks out, with dark skin and a black beanie. Tyreese. But he's not alone. He's carrying- _is that? Could it be?_

Carl bolts clear past me, and Rick drops his belongings to sprint to Tyreese.

_I guess the dead coming back isn't always a bad thing._

Sasha runs forward too, and she hugs Tyreese as soon as baby Judith has been passed onto her father. I stand back and watch the two families become a little more whole again. As wonderful as it is to see them reunited, it's bittersweet, because I know my family will never be that whole ever again.

Rick holds his daughter tightly as Carl stands by her in pure astonishment, his face plastered with glee and disbelief, his hand stretches outward, as though he fears if he tries to touch her, she'll disappear.

"Judith," one word passes Carl's lips quietly, as he's runs his hand over her thin blonde hair. Rick's so stricken by emotion, for a moment, he looks like he's going to fall over. After a long time, Rick goes over to Tyreese and grips his shoulder as he gives him a look of thanks. Carl comes over to me and gives me a hug, resting his chin on my shoulder. "She's alive. She's alive." he murmurs over and over in disbelief. I nod and watch my breath turn to steam in the cold air. Rick looks down to his baby girl again and he's lost in glee again, because his child is alive. Then I slightly nudge Carl, because his dad is looking at him, he breaks away from me and goes back to his sister.

I watch them some more until Carl nods his head, motioning for me to stand with them. I walk over and stand next to Carl, looking down at Judith; a smile breaks across my face, seeing a true miracle.

"What happened?" I hear Carol behind me, but I don't bother to turn around.

"There were a bunch of walkers out here and he got his hands around Judith's neck." Tyreese explains. I stare at the small child in front of me, so small, so fragile. _Who would dare harm such a sweet little girl? _

"No, he's dead. I- I had to. So I did. I could." Tyreese tells Carol grimly.

Rick passes Judith to Carl and he walks back towards the road, "I don't know if the fire is still burning."

"It is." Carol assures him.

"Yeah. We need to go." Rick decides

"Yeah," Daryl agrees, "but where?"

Rick gives the smoke in the distance a look of scorn, "Somewhere far away from there."

We all begin to pack up and I walk with Carl who's still got Judith. I look over and see Abraham and Rosita talking, but I don't quite catch their words.

We head back to the railroad, and just ahead is one of the Terminus signs. Rick stops at it, and uses a clay rock to scratch out the Termites message. Then he writes one word at the top. All that's left when he's done are two words.

_NO SANCTUARY_


	51. Faith

Faith is a funny, funny creature. It lives inside of us and sometimes we put it in other people or things. Regardless of whether we should, or if they deserve it. We just do. Sometimes it's well placed, and other times it isn't. You just gotta hope you learn from the times when it's not as well placed.

We walk until the sun's close to setting. We won't find shelter tonight, and it's a shame, because under the patchy foliage we get even less sunlight than is given, the chill of fall turning into winter is unbearable now, I can't imagine what the dark will bring. I look at Judith who's still wrapped in the arms of Carl, she's content for now, a headband around her head covering her small ears, a blanket swaddling her small body, pressed against Carl- the warmest person I know. Even then, I know the night is more powerful than what she's been given.

When we do stop, everyone kind of separates and begins doing their own tasks. Carl hands Judith to me and I hold her carefully, strong enough not to drop her, but delicate enough as to not hurt the baby. Carl slings a bag off his shoulder and kneels down. He digs out some beef jerky and offers me a strip, I nod at Judith, indicating once we get her settled I would gladly take that hunk of dried, stale meat.

Carl next pulls out a baby bottle filled with water, and I give her back to him. Her tiny fingers wriggle for the bottle and they curl greedily around the plastic and Carl's hand as she begins to suck down the water. He watches her with undying love and like he's still trying to believe she's real. As though he's trying to imagine what good he's done to deserve such a miracle as his baby sister. I sit down next to him, and take that piece of jerky. Being the everlasting romantic that I am.

I cross my legs and watch everyone around me, almost giving Carl and Judy a private moment to themselves. Carol and Tyreese seem to have gone off- I think I might have heard something about water?_ Yes, water would be good_. My throat is too dry, it's this wind that's really killing me, and I can't seem to wet my mouth. Rosita is standing guard over Eugene._ Really? Can't the man protect himself? _

Probably not. I shake my head. Rick is talking to Tara, probably talking about the Governor. She fist pounds him, then that conversation is over. Glenn and Maggie have settled down beside another tree, about 20 feet away. Michonne is gathering wood to start up a fire, and I haven't a clue as to where Daryl is.

Judith finishes the bottle and burps. We both smile at that, and my hand runs up and down Carl's arm._ Big brother Carl._ He's good at this. Judith's little eyes begin to close and soon her head falls slack against Carl's chest. And he lets out a sigh, with a little smirk attached to it. It's getting dark quickly and the wind is picking up.

It happens so quickly it'd be easier to say I did it without thinking, but no. This was over much thought, but in the end I decided what needed to be done. I take off my jacket and I give it to Carl, "Here. She needs this more than I do." I look at Judith and he does too. He opens his mouth to protest at first but I cut him off, "I want this. The kid needs it more than I do." I repeat. So Carl wraps his little sister in my blood-stained, torn jacket. But the hood is soft, it'll help keep her warm.

The wind blows straight through my clothes now, but I can't act cold. Carl will make me take the jacket back, and I won't have it, I won't have Judy freezing on us.

Darkness falls quick after that, and I must say, sometimes I hate when I'm right. There's a fire, but we can only get so close, Judy's stayed asleep this whole time and none of us want to chance waking because of movement. I stay close to Carl, because he's radiating warmth somehow, and it's not in a feverish way. We don't have much food left, so dinner's real small and I barely manage to get a hold of a few dried banana chips. They're far beyond stale and I'm afraid that I'll crack a tooth while chewing on them. Not that the idea stops me of course, food's food. Anything to help dampen the grumbling.

We're given a tarp to help shield ourselves from the wind, and Carl's unzipped his jacket to shield Judith even more. Tree bark pokes into my side as I lean a little against Carl, staring into the dying fire. Soon the rhythm of its crackling, its rises and falls soothes me into closing my eyes and falling into an uneasy sleep.

I don't sleep deeply, or for very long intervals. I wake every hour or so, maybe every two hours at my luckiest, until it's close enough to dawn to give up trying. Rick and Daryl are the only ones awake and they're stirring the fire, trying to bring some warmth back into the camp. My nose is numb and my body is stiff with the cold and the not 100% comfortable sleeping position. I move slowly away from Carl, as though not to disturb him, or Judith and I stand, taking a moment to stretch. Leaves crackle beneath my feet and the two men's head swing around to find the source of the noise. When they see it's me they both nod and turn back to the fire. I walk up and sit beside Daryl. I feel the heat of the flames warm my boots and bring the feeling back to my toes. I stretch my hands towards the fire like a greedy child and feel the warmth on my fingers too. I flex them and wiggle them around, trying to make them usable again.

"I wanna thank you." Rick says. I turn to him, confused at first, "You didn't have to give up your jacket for my little girl, but you did. That means a lot."

I look down, embarrassed, "It wasn't a big deal." I shrug, I can't look up at Rick.

_You're turning into a Sam-sicle and you wanna say it's not a big deal?_

_Because it's not! She's a baby! _

_Then why didn't let her father give up his jacket?_

_I wasn't gonna risk anything. I saw the problem and..._

_Why am I even arguing this with myself?_

"What's the plan for today?" I ask, eager to change the subject.

"Find shelter." Rick says immediately without falter, "We can't spend another night out here in the cold." He casts a look at his still sleeping son, and his daughter who's beneath the tarp.

I nod in agreement. Anything with a roof and walls will do, "W're low on supplies." Daryl comments, "Food needs ta be a priority too."

Rick gives a single nod, "We need to get on the move as soon as the sun's up."

"I'm gonna go scout the area, see if there's any trails, maybe a shack somethin' out here." Daryl stands up.

"Can I come with you?" I look up at him hopefully.

His eyes narrow and his brow furrows in thought, his eyes flit to Rick for a moment and Rick gives the tiniest nod before Daryl's eyes are back on me, "C'mon kid. Let's get goin' and I don't wanna hear anythin' 'bout ya bein' cold."

I stand up quickly, and Daryl slings his crossbow over his back and he pulls out a pistol from the weapons bag. "Jus' in case." He says stiffly. I nod and follow him out of camp.

He walks silently, avoiding leaves and sticks, and I do my best to do the same, although I'm not quite as successful as he is. We just walk for a while until he stops suddenly and I nearly smack into him. I was too busy squinting in the pre-dawn light to see what was right in front of me. I internally chastise myself, if I want Daryl to keep letting me come with him I've got to pay better attention. I lean to the left, past his body, trying to see what we've stopped for. He raises his hand, and with the other, he grabs his crossbow. Then he loads it and then- FWOOSH! The arrow flies, meets its target, and the squirrel falls to the ground, he picks it up and ties it to some twine he's got.

We continue on after that, catching more squirrels as we see them. Daryl gets a whole string of them by the time we make it back to camp. We were more successful hunting than we were scouting. There's absolutely nothing out there. The sun gives a orange glow, lighting up the forest, melting the dew off leaves. The air smells crisp and clean this morning, I like it. We walk a little while longer when Daryl stops. He lifts one hand, the one that's not holding the squirrels, indicating for me to stop. He walks ahead about 5 yards before giving a tiny nod, I come up behind him and we continue. I hear rustling ahead and my hand goes for the pistol that's tucked into my waistband. I look down for a moment and when I look back up we're face to- gun barrel with the rest of our group.

"We surrender," Daryl jokes, a small smile spreads across my lips. It's not too often Daryl makes a joke. Carl, Rick, and everyone else lowers their weapons and our two groups merge into one again. I fall in step beside Carl while Daryl goes ahead and talks to Rick, they keep their voices low and I can't make out their words. When I give up on that, I look around for Judith since Carl doesn't have her any longer. I catch a glimpse of her strapped to Tyreese's back and I carry on.

"Was she ok this morning?" I ask

Carl nods, "She was just great." His hand finds mine, our fingers interlace, his blue eyes are intense on mine and I'm the first to look away, "She'll be fine."

Rick whistles and walks back to meet Abraham, they have a discussion, I think I hear the word 'north' in there, we must be going to D.C., stomach twists anxiously. We're putting a lot of faith in one man, one idea, that we don't know very well.

_Correct me if I'm wrong, but did we not just put our faith in one place, one idea, and how well did that go? Oh right, terribly. But it's not like they were cannibals. Oh right. They were._

So why do we do this, why again? Why do we _always_ do this? Why do we choose to put our faith out there? Only to suffer the consequences of loss and pain, tragedy and angst. It's just not worth it.

Then again. Why do we even carry on? Why do we choose to carry on in this hell of the world where tragedy and pain are as familiar as the sun in the sky?

"Wet socks." Sasha breaks me from my thoughts.

"Cool feet," Bob counters.

I frown, _what the hell?_

"Mosquito bites." Sasha throws at him

"Itching reminds you you're alive." Bob shrugs, giving her a knowing look.

"Danger around every corner," Sasha tries to stump him.

"Never a dull moment," Bob says, unfazed.

"The hot sun beating down on you,"

"Oh come on," Bob rolls his eyes, like it's the most obvious answer in the world, "A glorious tan."

_Sure, for those of you who tan. I'm sure it's great._ I snort, looking at my pale arms, they aren't a ghostly color, I'd always had some pigment, but for the life of me I could never tan. Not before, not now.

The two of them laugh at Bob's joke, "I said it, and I meant it." Bob defends.

Then Sasha continues, "No privacy."

"Captive audience," he gives her a knowing smirk and they kiss. Every time they break away he keeps asking for one more until she playfully shoves him and starts walking with her brother.

"He's a damn expert at that." Sasha comments

"What was it?" Tyreese asks, shifting his gun a little.

"A little game," Sasha shakes her head, "Good out of the bad."

I think about that for a moment, finding the good out of the bad.

The bad: We're trusting a man we know next to nothing about

The good: we could possibly, maybe end the apocalypse.

Am I doing this right? I don't think I am.

_Let me try again._

The bad: We're putting faith in a man we hardly know

The Good: Where is the harm in having a little faith? It keeps us going doesn't it? Gives a purpose.

The Actual Good: We still have faith.


	52. Weighing the Odds

The skill of this world is how well you can weigh the odds of a situation. Does the good weigh out the bad? Can we sacrifice the one thing for the greater good of all? I don't like that second one too well, because you never know if _you're_ that one thing that can be sacrificed. Like with the Governor, if he thought that he'd end off better by it, he'd sacrifice anything and_ anyone._ But he was selfish when it comes to things like that. He wasn't too good at weighing the options, for a group at least. Here I am now, in a different group, and I put my faith into this leader hoping he's better.

A cry fills the cold air. A cry for help.

A cry Carl can't ignore.

"Dad come on!" he begs, "Come on!"

But maybe Rick will.

He stands there for a moment, weighing the options. He has his infant daughter, and the cure holder. Is he really willing to risk it for what may be a trap? There's still Termites out there. What if it's them? What if it's the same old trap over again. Will we really fall for it?

We do.

Soon we're running after the cry. The cold wind whips through my hair and numbs my cheeks, I pull the pistol from my waistband and click the safety off, keeping pace with Carl. We soon come upon a huge rock in the middle of the woods, and on top of the rock is a writhing man trying to escape from the walkers, which must be harder than it seems. He's only surrounded by three or four dead. _Why doesn't he just... shoot them? Or stab them? Or crush their heads with smaller rocks_. There's no time to think of why the man isn't doing anything to shake the walkers.

Carl is the first to fire, but I'm not far behind. Daryl cuts across the back to take any out from behind. They turn towards us, we've gotten their attention. Maybe there were a few more than I originally thought, but nothing we can't manage. Rick slams the skull of one into the face of the boulder, splattering it's cranial contents all over the place, before releasing it and the silenced corpse falls to the ground. Carol stabs another with her knife, leaving me with the bitter feeling that my knife is gone forever, I'll have to find another one. Michonne bludgeons another walker with the butt of her automatic rifle. The chaos settles down after a moment and Daryl appears from the other side of the rock.

"We're clear," Rick announces, "Keep watch."

We all watch the strange man, "Come on down." instructs Rick. He climbs down slowly, and I keep my finger on the trigger of my gun, in case this guy decides to try and pull a fast one.

He gets down without trouble. But there's something wrong. He's shaking, and he looks awfully frightened for a grown man who's spent two or so years in the apocalypse. He also appears utterly appalled at us. _Excuse me, buddy. But we just saved your life_. His mouth tightens almost painfully.

"You okay?" Rick looks the man over. Something is definitely not right. _Is he really alone? Unarmed? Or is this still a -_

The doubles over and pukes his guts out, I squeeze my eyes shut because I know all this _is_ super disgusting. But honestly, shouldn't he be a little more used it by now? I open them once the hacking appears to have stopped.

"Sorry," the man says, he has a frail voice, or maybe it's just because he's afraid. He stands back up, and I'm on edge because I can't shake the feeling he's gonna rip out a gun at any moment. He's dressed oddly too, a suit. A suit! In this world? Please. But this isn't just any suit, he's got the strip of white beneath his chin. He's a priest. Or he was in any case.

"Yes." he answer Rick's initial question, "Thank you." he adjusts his suit jacket, "I'm Gabriel." he's still looking mighty suspicious to me. He's too... twitchy... no that's not it. Goddammit, what is it about him? I can't quite put my finger on it. He looks to Michonne, who aids him in no way, rather just stares at him, stoic, trying to figure him out.

Carl stands by his father, looking at Gabriel, trying to sort him out.

Rick narrows his eyes, "Do you have any weapons on you?"

Gabriel chuckles, and my foot inches back uneasily, "Do I look like I would have any weapons?"

"We don't give two short and curlies what it looks like." Abraham tells him plainly.

Gabriel shifts on his feet, maybe we weren't the kind of crowd he was expecting, "I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need."

_Bullshit_. I try to hold back a snort. _The good Lord hadn't done a whole lot of protecting here lately._

"Sure didn't look like it." Daryl points out, glaring at Gabriel, doing the same thing we all are. Trying to figure out who this guy thinks he is.

"I called for help. Help came." Gabriel says like this is all the proof he needs in the world, he's even smiling. _Smiling._ The audacity.

My eyebrows furrow, this isn't right. He can't honestly believe this stuff. He looks around at all of us, trying to see if we'll smile too.

His gaze falls on me for a moment, I stare right back and shift my hold on the gun. He swallows awkwardly and the smile fades away, he quickly looks back to Rick. I hope he can tell he's not giving off the greatest first impression.

"Do you um... have any food? Whatever I- I had left, it just hit the ground." he does one of those awkward, hopeful smiles again.

Carl digs into his pocket, "We've got some pecans."

After some hesitation, and some looking over Carl, "Thank you." Gabriel gladly takes the nuts from Carl's palm.

_Am I just being ridiculous? Maybe it's just me thinking there's something wrong with this guy. Maybe he really is ok._ I mean Carl appears to at least be giving him a chance.

_No_. _The moment I put my gun away he'll pull his out and gun us all down._

At least, that's what my mind imagines will happen. I'll keep it out, just in case.

I hear the coo of Judith from behind me. I turn my head and Tyreese has taken her out from the back sling, she's in his arms now cooing. That brings the tiniest smile to my face.

"That's a beautiful child," Gabriel comments. _Damn straight she is. I mean look at her older brother._

_Sam! This is not the time._

Rick stares at Gabriel, probably considering killing him, weighing the options once more. He gives no response though. Carl's eyes keep going back and forth between Gabriel and Rick.

The silence that ensues is anything but comfortable, Gabriel loses his cool first and speaks, "Do you have a camp?"

"No." Rick answers immediately, "Do you?"

Gabriel's mouth quivers, considering answering. He better answer truthfully, that's for sure, "I have a church,"

_Of course he does._

"Hold your hands above your head," Rick scoffs, he can't believe this guy either. _Good, I'm not the only one. _

Gabriel's arms raise slowly and Rick pats him down, surprisingly to find nothing. _Should I put this thing away or...?_

_No. He could have other people with him, hiding in the trees. Got to be ready. Always have to be ready._

_Don't you think you're being a tad ridiculous? That idea seems a bit far fetched. _

_No. Terminus taught you. You can't trust again. _

So I keep the gun out, just in case.

"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick asked, standard protocol I suppose.

Gabriel does that breathy laugh thing again, _come on man, just answer the damn question_, "Not any actually."

_What? No walkers?! How the hell have you made it this long?!_

"Turn around," Rick remains unfazed and continues the pat down, "How many people have you killed?"

"None." Gabriel tells him. He turns his head, looking at us, looking at Rick. Wondering how this is even a question. Then he wonders what kind of people he's actually dealing with if a question like that is to be taken seriously.

"Why?" Rick asks the final question, generally the hardest, but Gabriel answers it easily.

"Because the Lord abhors violence."

"What have you done?" Rick gets close to his face. Refusing to believe this man is some kind of saint in this world among sinners.

Gabriel's face twitches some more, like maybe he's about to cry.

"We've all done somethin'," Rick explains, _it's true. _

_So come on buddy, fess up_.

"I am sinner," Gabriel states plainly, "I sin almost every day. But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers." I shift my feet and the gun, glaring at Gabriel, _you're gonna confess today buddy boy._

Carl casts me a look instructing me to calm down some. Ok maybe I am getting a little worked up. Maybe I should just let the grown ups do their job.

Michonne speaks up, "You said you had a church?"

That's enough to get us on the road again. Or to Gabriel's church at least. Maybe I should refer to him as Father Gabriel, since that appears to be what he is. I walk at the back of the pack, Rick and Daryl are at the front with Gabriel, to make sure we stay on track. Carl falls back to walk with me.

"Are you okay?" his arm reaches out for my shoulder. I shy away from it.

"Do you really trust this guy?" I whisper, looking Carl dead in the eyes. My pistol is tucked into my waistband again, but it wouldn't take much to whip it back out again if it became necessary.

Carl looks away, gnawing on his upper lip, trying to decide, "I want to. It can't just be all bad people out there right? I mean, look at you. You came from Woodbury, proof that one bad person doesn't mean they're all bad. Come on, the guy's a priest."

"Was a priest." I point out, "Your dad was also a cop. And you know what he's done."

"But he's still good," Carl argues, "And I think this guy can be too."

I narrow my eyes at Carl, still not convinced.

He sighs and stops walking, grabbing my arm so I have no choice but to stop, "Look, we all get pushed to our limits. But that shows us who we are. When we're stretched our farthest. When our family members are endangered, how far will we go? This guy has limits too, limits I'm sure he's gone to, to protect himself- or someone he loved. You can't make false assumptions of this guy on his limits you don't even know about. He seems like a pretty good guy. Just give him a chance."

I look at him for a moment, thinking of what to say next, "He just seems too good. Like who hasn't killed a walker? It's been two years at least. How has this guy made it?"

Carl shrugs, "He said he's a sinner. I'm sure he has his ways." his lips are pressed together. He wants to believe, and he tells me he does. But his expression exposes the truth, he's just as unsure as I am.

We continue on until we finally arrive at the church. It's a little teeny tiny white thing. With a steeple and front doors. Very much so a traditional church like you'd see in movies and such.

Carl's taken Judy from Tyreese now, we approach the church carefully. Gabriel gets to the door first, I hang back with Carl and Rick goes up the steps to meet Gabriel, "Hold up. Can we take a look around first? We just want to hold on to our squirrels." Rick hints at joke Gabriel made earlier that we didn't take too kindly too.

Rick gestures for the key to the church and after a look from Gabriel, he hands them over. They go in guns up, and I stay behind with Carl and Judith because that's what I've been instructed to do.

Michonne, Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and Carol are the only ones that go in. Maggie, Sasha, Bob and Abraham go around back to check for anything. They end up coming back before Rick and them do and for a moment, that worries me.

I look to Carl and gives me an expression that says '_they'll be back. I know they will_'. In the mean time, he's holding Judith and she pulls on his shirt and tries to chew on it. I smile at the scene of Carl trying to get her to stop, but struggling because he wants her to stay happy. "You're such a good girl, Judy." he repeats over and over. So she knows. So she'll remember. That she's a good girl born into a bad place and I look at her and wonder how she is going to survive this terrible place. Maybe the world will be cured by then, so she won't know this place for long. But that's assuming a lot of things. And assuming is dangerous.

He finally gets her to stop chewing and she becomes content just to grasp his flannel shirt tightly and drool on it. I hear footsteps come through the entryway and Rick and his group have returned, apparently to find no one else.

Maybe Carl was right, maybe there still are good people.

"I spent months here without stepping out the front door. If you found someone inside, well, it would have been surprising," there's that joking tone again. Hasn't he caught on by now? We aren't joking people.

"Thanks for this." Carl tells the priest.

Abraham stands beside Rick and tells him of his findings, "We found a short bus out back. It don't run, but I bet we could fix that in less than a day or two. Father here says he doesn't want it. Looks like we found ourselves some transport." he waits for Rick to say something, but he doesn't, "You understand what's at stake here, right?"

"Yes I do," Rick informs him, he's looking at Judith, weighing the odds again. Always have to weigh the odds nowadays.

Michonne cuts in, "Now that we can take a breath-"

Abraham cuts her off, "We take a breath, we slow down, shit inevitably goes down."

Michonne isn't taking shit from him though, "We need supplies no matter what we do next." she is right. That was kind of today's plan. Considering we already completed the first objective of finding shelter. Little Judy won't freeze tonight. I run my hand over her thin hair, relieved.

"That's right. Water, food, ammunition." Rick climbs the stairs, going inside, declaring the conversation over.

"Short bus ain't going nowhere." Daryl points out, "Bring you back some baked beans."

The inside of the church is exactly how I would've imagined it. Stain glass windows, two columns of wooden pews line from the back to front, the pulpit up front, there's a door on the left leading to what I presume is an office, and another door farther back in the pulpit, it's not facing the rest of the church. A fence sort of barrier barricades the pulpit and doors from the rest of the church. There's an organ on the right, which has long outlived its usefulness. Rick has taken Judith from Carl now, and he holds her as he continues to interrogate Gabriel, "How'd you survive here for so long? Where did your supplies come from?"

"Luck," Gabriel explains, "Our annual canned food drive. Things fell apart right after we finished it. It's just me." he says a little quieter than the rest of what he tells us. Like maybe he's upset about it. Or ashamed.

Carl walks to Rick, "Come here Judith," he says softly, taking his sister back from his father. He stands beside me again, his shoulder bumping mine.

Then Gabriel continues, "The food lasted a long time. And then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby. Except for one."

_Why that one?_

Rick and I must be on the same wavelength or something, because he asks a similar question, "What kept you from it?"

"It's overrun," Gabriel says simply.

"How many?" Rick narrows his eyes, weighing the odds, still weighing the odds.

"A dozen or so." Gabriel shrugs, "Maybe more."

"We can handle a dozen," Rick informs him.

_Damn right we can_. A sick smile spreads across my face, it's a small one, where just the corners are turned up. I hope no one notices.

"Bob and I will go with you," offers Sasha, walking over to Rick's side, the rifle still gripped tightly in her hands, "Tyreese should stay here, help keep Judith safe."

That leads to a more healthy smile. Tyreese has taken a liking to that kid, it's adorable.

"That'll be ok?" Rick looks to Tyreese for confirmation

"Sure," Tyreese grins, looking at Judith in Carl's arms. The baby drools onto Carl's shoulder, more smiles spread around the group, "You ever need me to watch her, need anything for her, I'm right here." Tyreese's gaze is soft on Judy.

"I'm grateful for it." Rick nods, he takes a few strides over to Tyreese, "And everything else."

"I'll go," I pipe in. I wouldn't mind helping out. Bashing in a few skulls, doing what needs to be done.

"No you won'." Daryl says immediately.

I frown at him, "Why not? I want to help and this is the best way."

Daryl takes a deep breath and a step towards me, he puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me into one of the pews, lowering his voice, "Kid, ya can' come all the time. I'm not gonna let ya. Not just yet." We've pulled out of the conversation between Rick and Gabriel. They continue on without us.

_You're not my dad._ I fight back the remark. _You can't control what I do._

_But he can and you damn well know it._

My eyes narrow, frustrated, and desperate to do something important, "Please." I beg. But not in the sweet little girl voice I know I should use. Rather I do it with clenched teeth and a narrowed brow, my arms crossed and boots firm on the floor.

_Good God, I am such a freaking brat_. I realize rather suddenly.

Daryl takes another deep breath, "Next time, kid. Ok?" his eyes are narrowed too. He fights back too. Only in a way Daryl Dixon would.

"Promise?" my voice softens slightly, my arms falling to my sides.

He nods.

"Say it," my voice even cracks this time.

"I promis'," he grumbles uneagerly.

"I'm gonna hold you to that Daryl Dixon, you promised." my voice becomes a little firmer again, and small smirk forms on one side of my mouth. I point a firm finger at him

"Ok, kid," He messes up my hair and I give a scowl that's not really a scowl because it's in good spirits. He walks off and I look around for Carl.

He's sitting on one of the pews in the right row, about halfway back. Judith is with Tyreese, and Rick's squatting beside the bench. I can't hear him from here, but every now and then I see Carl's brow furrow or a little shake of his head and he says something back. I watch him, my head cocked to the side. He watches his father intently, those blue orbs tightly focused on his father's face.

He's so good. He really is. He's changed and it's wonderful.

But I know I've changed too. And I'm not proud of it.

Carl nods as Rick talks some more, then he says something and Rick stands.

"Dad," Carl calls back to his father who at this point has his back turned, he turns back and walks back to Carl.

Carl's voice drops again, and I stop trying to understand what's going on, I turn around and I find Tyreese. He's up at the front of the church standing by the first pew, smiling back at giggling Judith. I walk up beside him.

"She's beautiful," I comment, running my hand over her soft, small head.

"She can be trouble," Tyreese says, with amusement in his tone and a smile on his face. But I can't help but wonder, what was it like for them out there on their own, with the baby?

When did he find Carol? Was he with anyone else? If he was... what happened to them?

These are all questions I'm not in any place to ask, as a child, they'd come off as inappropriate and would be brushed off. So they remain in my head, bouncing around, always that wonder, "Oh." is all I actually saw.

"Would you like to hold her?" Tyreese offers. I nod, a smile spreading uncontrollably.

My jacket is still loosely wrapped around Judy. She hold one of the sleeves in her small hands and sucks on the soft fabric.

"Aren't you a silly girl," there's something about being around the baby that never fails to lighten my mood. I can't stop smiling and my voice is sweet and almost giddy.

"Can I trust you to leave her in your care?" Tyreese lifts his dark eyebrows at me. I nod and softly bounce Judy up and down on my hip.

Judy changes her interest from my jacket to the end of my messy braid. She tugs on it, intrigued.

"Well she seems to have taken a liking to you," I can hear the smile in Carl's voice behind me. I feel his hand slip around and sit contently on my waist.

I'm tempted to ask what he was discussing with his father, but it isn't my business.

"It seems I've taken a liking to her as well," I joke, "though really, how could you not?" I look back at him and he's got a lazy smirk and the corners of his eyes are crinkled up.

"She is kind of adorable," Carl jokes back, "Kind of like her older brother I might add."

_We were all thinking it._

I scoff, "A bit full of ourselves aren't we," I look back at him, Judy tugs on my braid again as though to say '_pay attention to me, not the dork in the sheriff hat!_'

I turn back to her, still that ridiculous smile on my face, "She's certainly got your ability to get me to pay attention. Didn't you, pretty girl." I tickle her tummy and she giggles, little legs kicking.

Carl nudges me gently, "You're so mean," he teases

I shrug indifferently, "But you love me," I tease back in a singsong voice.

"Mhm," he pecks my temple. His hand stirs from my side and runs along my back.

"You tired?" he asks casually

The weight of exhaustion balled up into my chest explodes and releases the tiring lead throughout my bones.

"Nah," I shrug, bouncing Judy, the smile still there. But the smile isn't really in my response.

"You should lie down, bookworm." Carl says gently, "We're okay here, a little nap won't hurt."

_A nap does sound nice_.

"Honestly I'm fine," I insist

Carl sits down in the pew directly in front of me, patting the empty space beside him.

"We haven't got anything to do until my dad gets back anyway. It's not just us anymore. You can let other people take care of the watch duty." he speaks the truth and I know it deep down, he lowers his voice, "Gabriel is gone, and I don't think he's got anyone else. It's ok."

This soothes me enough to sit down.

"Did you sleep any last night?" he asks in that same gentle tone he's maintained since the beginning of the conversation.

"A little, but not well," I finally crack.

Judy lets out her standard baby noises as her interest falls back to my braid again.

"I can take my sister back if you want," he smirks at Judy, who's about to put my hair in her mouth.

I carefully tug away my braid as Carl takes Judy from my arms.

"Here's your jacket back," he untangles the rest of the jacket from her torso, "so that you never have the cold keeping you up again," he uses a joking tone for a matter we both know is serious.

I rest the jacket in my lap, staring rather blankly at the barrier about seven feet in front of me.

_A little sleep wouldn't hurt. Maybe just rest my eyes for a couple minutes. Yeah. That'll be ok._

I let out a deep sigh and close my eyes as I rest my head against Carl's shoulder. I'm done trying to weigh the odds.


	53. Limits

_"Look, we all get pushed to our limits. But that shows us who we are. When we're stretched our farthest. When our family members are endangered, how far will we go? This guy has limits too, limits I'm sure he's gone to, to protect himself- or someone he loved. You can't make false assumptions of this guy on his limits you don't even know about. He seems like a pretty good guy. Just give him a chance."_ How far will we go to protect the ones we love? That's the name of the game when it comes to limits. You can do a hell of a lot to a person, but when you bring their loved ones into it, you learn a lot more. They'll bite a man's throat out. They'll shoot a kid in the forest. They'll search up and down Georgia, just to see them again. Because that's the thing with love, it has no limits.

I wake sometime later, the sounds of Carl encouraging his little sister. It takes a second for my ears to focus on the words he's saying. And then I open my eyes to see Judy. Literally inches from my face.

"Come on Judy, give her a kiss, right on the nose." I feel a tap on my nose from Carl's finger.

All I get is drool. But Judith grins, so I can't help it, I smile too. I give her a small kiss on the nose.

"That's how you give a kiss, silly girl," I tickle her stomach again and she laughs.

"Would you mind holding her for a minute," Carl drops his voice, "I really need to go take a-"

I lift my hand stopping him, "Yeah, I get it. Just go. I don't mind." I take Judith from him as he stands and walks out of the church. Judith gurgles contently as I bounce her up and down on my lap. Her tiny hands cling onto my fingers, and that permanent grin plastered across my face.

Someone slides into the space next to me, I turn my head. _Maggie_. They must have gotten back from their search.

"Hi," I say simply, directing my attention back on Judith.

"Hey," she replies just as evenly.

"If you're here to talk to me about Carl, 'bout everyone else has already beat you to it." I joke

She shakes her head, "No, no. I just wanted to see Judith. She makes me think of Beth. Back at the prison, she was always caring for this sweetheart. And now..."

_She's gone_. Like Daryl said. I'm sure he told Maggie about their time together. How she's not dead... just _gone_.

"I'm really sorry, Maggie." I stop bouncing Judith. The baby leans against my chest, still cooing.

Maggie draws in a sharp breath, "I'm fine. I really am. I mean, there's still hope I guess."

I nod, "I mean you found Glenn, and us. Carl and Rick found each other, and then they found Judith. I found Carol- and I thought for sure she was dead. I think we'll find her. Miracles still happen, Maggie, you just got to believe."

Maggie smiles and nods, running a hand over Judy's head, "Thanks."

I smile back, not the kind of smile Judith brings me, just a friendly one, "No problem."

Some time goes by, not a lot, just enough for me to feel like talking again, "So what did y'all find?"

"Not much," Maggie shrugs, "Found some silencers, a half full box of .22 rounds. It's something though."

"Sam." Carl says from behind me. I snap my head around to see him. His eyes are wide and afraid. His mouth drawn thin, "I need to show you something. Now."

I frown, my eyes narrowing, "What is it?"

"Just come on. Maggie, you should see this too."

We follow Carl outside. We left Judith inside with Tyreese, in her makeshift crib. We go down the stairs and around to the back of the church.

He stops in front of some shrubs a little to the right of a window.

"Carl, what are we doing here?" I look at him, still a little confused.

"Hey!" Rick calls, I turn to see him before I get a good look at what Carl's talking about.

_Good, they're back too. _A breathe a sigh of relief, not realizing I'd been holding my breath in the first place, "Tyreese said you were out back. Come on in. We found food. A lot of it."

_Food_. My stomach grumbles at the mention of it.

"What is it?" Rick looks at his son.

"Those scratches," Carl points at the window again, "They're deep. Like knives or something. Someone was trying to get in. I found something else." he walks over about 15 feet to the left, "I don't know what happened, but whatever it is, we can handle it. Doesn't mean Gabriel is a bad guy for sure, but it means something."

Oh.

I see it now.

YOU'LL BURN FOR THIS

The knife carvings read. I look at Rick, and then at Maggie. She's looking to Rick too. Then at Carl. He's looking at me, waiting to see how I react.

I feel like an 'I told you so' would be uncalled for. Besides, nothing is for certain yet.

Voices fill the chapel. These voices do not cry for help or scream of pain. They are comfortable to my ears, with the occasional laugh and general air of glee. Rick sits, back against the barrier. A bowl of stew at his side, Judith in his lap and she shoves food from his bowl, that's really supposed to be for her. Everyone is in good spirits tonight. And it's not just because someone found a couple bottles of Communion wine.

Everyone's together again. It's like the prison almost. Almost. And here I am again. Alone. Well, for now I am. Carl went to go get us food and ended up talking to Michonne. I don't mind. He's not mine. I don't own him.

I'm sitting in a pew a couple rows from the front, on the far right. I close my eyes for a moment and try to enjoy the cheerful noise.

"Hello." A new voice breaks through. It's closer than the cheer. I snap open my eyes. I'm not alone anymore. And it's not Carl either.

"Good evening, father." I greet Gabriel as politely as I can manage. The skin on the back of my neck prickles upon remembering what I read engraved into the wood.

"You seem to be a troubled child, I've noticed." he comments.

"A lot of people are these days," I shrug

He sits in the next pew up and turns to face me.

"Why might you be troubled dear child?" he inquires. I'm not sure what I should disclose to this man. We still don't really know who he is.

"You may have saved yourself from killing in this world, sir, but not all of us have." That seems to explanatory enough.

The priest frowns, "Why would you ever truly _need_ to kill someone?"

That's when the flashbacks start. I blink them away and find a way to answer calmly, "I was being attacked. There was no other way."

"There's always another way," the priest reassures me.

My hands begin to tremble against my legs. I curl my hands into fists to stop the trembling, "It _had_ to be done." my face is stiff and straight, reflecting no emotion.

_Where is Carl with that food? _

"And what about those... oh what do you call them?" Gabriel asks.

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, "They're walkers. They're dead. Gone. There isn't a soul left to be saved. That isn't killing. That's putting them out of their misery. That's nothing."

Gabriel has that look of horror splayed upon his face again.

_Am I bad? _

"You can come back from this, child. The Lord can help guide you. It's not too late." Gabriel promises.

My gut twists.

"What about you father?" I ask, my fear lashing out, "How have you saved yourself from such criminal sin for so long?"

"I never said I kept myself from sin. I said I hadn't killed any people or.. walkers." he says evenly.

"But how?" my eyes widen, "How have you lived for this long like this. It's just... it's impossible."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, child. In ways we may not always understand, nor are we meant to." he shrugs.

I don't say anything. His faith is unbelievably strong. It's quite remarkable really.

"That child," Gabriel speaks again, "The baby. She's not yours is she? You look too young to be a mother, yet you care for her so much."

I shake my head, "She's Carl's baby sister. Their mother... well she's not here anymore. I just like to care for her. In a world so dark and dreary, it's like she's a candle. A little flame of hope. And I'll do everything I can to make sure that candle keeps burning."

"Hey,"

I turn my head.

_Oh thank God it's Carl._

"You brought food," I smile at him. But I smile because he's here and maybe I can be spared of this awful feeling in my gut.

Gabriel looks at Carl and he stands, "I don't quite remember your name?" he looks to me quizzically

"That's because I never told you," I tell him evenly.

_No. You must be good_, "It's Sam."

"Ah yes. Well, Sam. I'll leave you and Carl now. But just remember, it's never too late." he walks away and rejoins the crowd towards the pulpit.

I take my plate from Carl, portions of peas, corn, and vegetable soup are all spooned onto my plate. We even have forks, "Isn't this a treat." I smile at him, waving the fork around a little.

He smiles back, "It is nice." he lowers his voice and the smile falls, "What was Gabriel talking about, it not being too late? Did he mention those scratches?"

"No," I shake my head.

"Carl... am I bad?"

"No!" Carl shakes his head, "You're not bad. Why would you ever think that?"

I draw my lips together and look down. Carl takes my hand, "Sam. Is it something Gabriel said?"

I shake my head, "No. It's what I said. I- we kill people. A lot of people. That's not ok!"

"Of course it's not. But it has to be done. Sam, we've been over this." Carl tilts my chin up so I have to look at him, "We're survivors, Sam. Remember? We just do what we gotta. That doesn't mean we're bad."

"Ok." Is all I say. And I start eating, avoiding any more conversation.

_Maybe you shouldn't hate Bob so much. That's kind of a bad thing. And you want to be good. _

_But he's just so... Bob like._

_Sam stop! He isn't going to be around forever, and right now he's at least doing his part. _

_You have to let go of the past. It's not his fault. It's not his fault._

_But it is._

_But you're wrong. It's bad that Dad died, but you have to let go. Move on. __**This**__ is your family now. Dad would want this. He wouldn't want you to have some pointless vendetta against some poor guy. He'd want the you that loves and cares for Judith, even though she's not blood.__**That's**__ what Dad would want._

This is the best meal I've had since the pudding house. My stomach aches by the time I'm done I've eaten so much.

"You better?" Carl's hand rubs up and down my back.

"I don't recall being worse before." I tease.

He rolls his eyes, "Come on, you. Get up." he stands and pulls me with him.

I drop my voice, "Carl what are we doing?"

He tugs on my arm, "Lighten up a little will ya? And put on your jacket, we're going outside." I grab my jacket from the pew and we sneak out the front door just as Abraham begins to talk. The air is definitely brisk, I'm glad we aren't stuck out here again. But the sky is clear and the stars are out.

"Why are we out here?" I cross my arms, trying to keep warm. My breathe makes little steam clouds. His eyes have a mischievous glint to them in the dim light, the moon is nearly new, but light glows from the inside of the church, making it not completely black out here. But the not-black can attract walkers. We should've covered the windows.

"We haven't really been alone since we found my dad, _and _I like stargazing. Is that a problem?" he pokes my stomach.

"I can't say that's really stopped you." I give him a quick peck on the lips, "Though I can't say I find a problem with it." I look up at the stars, there are too many trees to see much farther than straight up, but it's ok.

I sit down, leaves crunch under my butt and boots. I yank on Carl's arm to sit down next to me, "Come on sheriff, you're the one that wanted to stargaze."

He glares for a moment, and I just give him a dumb grin. He leans in and kisses me. I pull away and shake my head, "Ah ah ah. Stars." I tilt his chin up to the sky, laughing a little. That's when the church doors open, I slam my hand over Carl's mouth and shrink against the wall of the church as best I can.

_Carol? What?_

At first I think she noticed we were gone, and came to bring us back inside. But then I realize she has other things on her mind. She takes off into the woods. Not even noticing us.

"What the hell?" Carl pulls my hand away from his mouth.

"Inside. Now." I stand up, not even waiting for him.

I can't let her get away, I can't let her leave again.

Carl follows me inside the church, "Sam."

I turn quickly, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Go see your sister, I'll be right there."

He gives me an unsure look. "Go." I insist. Once he leaves I make my way straight to Daryl. I pull him away from everyone else. His brow knits with questions.

"It's Carol," I tell him, "she ran off and I don't know why."

Daryl starts to walk away, "Daryl. Stop." he turns and looks at me, "I'm coming with you."

"Like hell ya are." he shifts his crossbow onto his shoulder, "Kid, this ain't no game."

My toes push onto the floor, "I know it ain't. That's why I'm coming. She means just as much as me as she does to you Daryl. Plus you promised. I come next time. This _is_ next time. Now we don't have much time, we can't let her get away!" I start out firm, but I end frantic. She can't leave me, not again.

Daryl scowls, clearly not liking the options, "Then c'mon. Ain't no time for goodbyes. We'll be back before they notice we're gone. You best keep yo mouth shut kid. I ain't wanna hear a peep from ya." I follow him out the door without even looking back.

I follow Daryl through the woods, watching him track. The sound of a motor running breaks the silence. Then I hear shuffling and then a thump. Ahead I see a road. We break through the tree line and Daryl stops. I poke my head out past Daryl. And there she is. Behind her is a car, and on the ground is a walker she must have just killed.

_"_What're ya doin'?" Daryl asks

Carol looks distressed, trying to find the right answer, "I don't know." she looks at me and her lips tighten.

_I ain't wanna hear a peep from ya._

So I say nothing. I just watch, observe. There isn't any harm in that, right?

"C'mon," Daryl nods at her to come on back to the church. The sound of a car's engine screams through the air, and Daryl and Carol run over and hide behind the car. I scamper over, staying behind him mostly.

It gets closer and then passes us at the nearby intersection. Daryl sprints out after the car. His crossbow clatters to the concrete and he stares for a few seconds at the car as it shrinks into the distance. He runs back, grabbing his bow and around the car. He slams the butt of his crossbow into the taillights, smashing them. Pieces of colored glass clink on the ground. I stand there frozen, trying to understand what's going on, Carol sort of follows him around. She's frantic too.

"Wh-what are you doing? What are you doing?!" she asks

"They got Beth!" is all Daryl has to say, the last taillight destroyed.

"C'mon! C'mon get in!" he throws open the driver's door. Carol takes the passenger seat, and I stir from my state and climb in the back. The car takes off just as I slam the door shut.

_How far will we go to protect the ones we love?_

I guess I'm about to find out.


	54. Tough

You can't live in this wasteland we call a world without being tough. And maybe being tough is like a callus. First you blister. But then skin grows back stronger. And it continues to wear until the skin is tough. Until you're tough. Some people came in to this world tough, but they weren't born that way, they callused before, and maybe that's better for them, but maybe it isn't.

I wouldn't say I_ cowered_ in the back seat of the car, trying to pretend like I wasn't there. But I was definitely try to make them forget I was there. Back corner, on the passenger side, back pressed firmly into the seat, hands clasping my knees tightly. Then again that may have been an effort to stay sitting up against the force of the car. Daryl was roaring after the car with the white cross. Once we caught up enough, Daryl hung back, just so we'd stay unnoticed, but not so far back that we could lose them.

This is wrong. I'm not supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to happen. We were just supposed to bring Carol back, show back up before anyone noticed us gone. Now they'll notice, they'll notice big time. And Carl... I told him I'd be right over.

_Goddammit! Why did I leave!_

_But Beth. We're gonna bring back Beth, so leaving's not all bad, right?_

_Watch._

The blackness of trees whiz past my view in the window. I look ahead and the car is about a couple hundred yards ahead of us. It's a small blob in the dim moonlight. Towering trees surround the road on either side, closing in on the victim cars.

"So it was just you and Beth after?" Carol asks.

"Yeah." Daryl replies plainly, obviously with other things on his mind than talking.

Carol must not pick up on his distance, or otherwise not care about it, "You save her?"

"She's tough. She saved herself." Daryl keeps his eyes ahead, nothing's gonna stop him from getting to her.

"We were out there for a while. We got cornered, she got out in front of me and I don't know, she was gone. I came out and a car's pulling out with a white cross on the window." Daryl explains, hoping that the insight will silence her questions.

"Just like that one?" Carol pushes

"Yep." Daryl tightens his grip on the wheel. There's a bump under us and it shakes the car some. It could've been a squirrel, or a opossum. But more than likely it was a walker. Oh well. No one mentions it. We've got better things to worry about then some corpse we just flattened.

"Rick's gonna wonder where we went." Daryl points out, "Tank's runnin' low."

_Then get 'em now!_

_Now Sam, that ain't very nice. I thought you were trying to be good._

_I am, but these are the people that took Beth! Doesn't that mean anything? _

_I think it means we should keep on. _

Carol speaks my mind for me,"We can end this quick. Just run him off the road."

"Nah, we're good for a bit." Daryl shakes his head.

Carol argues, "If they're holding her somewhere, we can get it out of the driver."

"Yeah, but if he don't talk, we're back to square one. Right now we got the advantage. We'll see who they are. If they're a group, see what they can do. And then we'll do what we gotta do to get her back." Daryl decides. Once Daryl makes a plan, you don't go back, you don't challenge it.

One final comment from Carol, "They're heading north, I-85."

Daryl and Carol exchange a look.

I-85, going north.

That's to the big city.

Beth's in Atlanta.

I sit quietly in the back seat, wringing my fingers nervously in the silence. Daryl's concentrating on the road. Carol staring ahead, trying to get a better look into the car, and I'm just watching. Because that's what I do best.

"You hangin' in there, kid?" Daryl asks as the broken Atlanta skyline looms ahead. On the left, a standstill traffic jam of cars that never escaped.

Damn. They haven't forgotten me.

"I'm doin' just fine." I inform him.

"Good. We're gonna need ya. I don' know what's ahead. Ya got me?" Daryl doesn't look at me, but I nod anyway.

"I can fight." I tell him.

I don't think I was supposed to notice, but I catch Carol give Daryl a glance. I don't say anything about it, and go back to looking out the window. We've entered the city now, buildings loom above us. Enormous tombstones to the former life.

I wonder how Beth could possibly be here. The dead overtook this city long, long ago. The possibility of any kind of life here is next to none. I stare at the dusty, foggy windows of the buildings we pass reflecting the silver light, each one as lifeless as the last. I begin to wonder if maybe we're on a ghost chase.

Then the car ahead of stops. Daryl stops about 150 feet behind it, waiting to see what they'd do next. Debris litters the streets, the city has fallen to ruin and the whole thing is rather depressing to see in the faint silver light. But what did I expect from a city run by the dead?

"The hell's he waiting for?" Daryl grumbles after we've been sitting there for a few minutes. We watch for a while longer, Carol straightens up in her seat and leans forward. Perhaps trying to read the license plates or something. Maybe she's just on edge, "There's two of 'em." Daryl notes as someone gets out on the passenger side of the car, "Is that a cop?" Daryl squints and I dig my fingernails into my jeans nervously. Carol pulls out her gun and I hear the safety click off.

I feel my own pistol dig firmly into my back, reminding me that it's there.

Daryl looks at Carol, maybe afraid she's gonna bolt, "They might have saw us," Carol reasons. Daryl gives a faint nod and they go back to watching.

The man walks off, going down the other street of the corner. He disappears out of our view, past the building on our right. We sit and watch, a still silence that raises the adrenaline for any hint of new movement.

SMACK! A walker slams into Carol's window, I flinch instinctively, my hand flying to my back for the gun. I feel ashamed for jumping, I should be used to the walker's banging around by now. I relax my hand back against my leg and try to slow my heart rate back down.

The man returns with a couple of bikes, which he dumps to the sidewalk, I suppose they were blocking the road. Meanwhile, our walker's is still attacking the window and Carol is cutting it glares, considering unrolling the window and shooting it. If she does, our cover's blown for sure. Maybe we can just wait it out and they won't investigate it.

The man continues to move items out of the way, and then he walks back, seemingly to his car, but it becomes clear all too soon, he's not stopping at the car. He walks a little past the car, wiping his hands, and finally he stops and watches. No movements, he'll sense movements. Daryl and Carol sit up front, alert and still, ready to fight at a moment's notice. I become frightened, yet slightly perturbed at that dumb walker who won't stop smacking into the car. After a moment which seems an eternity, the police man turns around and gets back into his car. I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

Their car comes to life and they drive off as the man's door shuts. Daryl goes to start are own car. It whirs for a few moments, the engine never quite turning over. He pulls out the key, his grip tightening on the wheel, "Aw, shit." he grumbles at a low whisper, "Tank's tapped." We knew running on fumes wasn't gonna last us forever.

"They'd have taken the bypass and they didn't. They must be holed up in the city somewhere." Daryl reasons. The snarls of more walkers than just our friend at Carol's window fill the car as they get closer. We're not safe here, especially with the empty tank. The longer we stay here, the more opportunity for walkers to surround us. If we stay here until morning, we'd never make it out alive.

Daryl must be making the same connections, "We gotta move, find someplace to hole up till sunlight." he looks around. The moans seeping through the windows make my skin crawl.

Carol turns back to face him, she'd been previously looking out the back window, I catch a quick glance back there, there's 3 big uglies coming our way, "I know a place just a couple of blocks from here. We can make it."

The two look at each, a moment of silent conversation, then Carol rolls down her window just enough to pull her knife out and take out her window buddy. We jump out of the car after the corpse collapses to the ground. Carol starts running and we follow, she makes a right at the corner where the police man through the bikes and I follow her, Daryl bringing up the rear. I turn my head to try and get a location on where the lockers are.

_Don't look back_. I hear Carl's voice in my head._ Just don't look back_. My head swivels back around I keep after Carol. We make it to the back side of whatever place she's been referring to and the door is locked.

"Lemme through," Daryl growls and he starts going to work on the lock, trying to get it to break.

"Two more." Carol warns him. My eyes flash away from Daryl and the dim light catches the walkers who stumble towards us. They're about 100 yards away, I tighten my jaw and my grip around my pistol which is openly out now. I hope I don't have to use it, wouldn't wanna attract more of these goons.

"Almos' got it," Daryl promises.

Carol runs out a little, ready to take on the walkers and I almost run with her, but then Daryl gets the door open, "C'mon," he calls quietly. Carol stands still for a moment not responding. We can hear them coming, getting closer._ Why are we waiting?_ I look to Daryl but he gives me the faintest shake of his head, indicating not to question it, he'll handle it. So I stand there quietly, like I always seem to do. There's more than two now, I can see at least five and more are still coming._ Come on Carol! What are we waiting for?_ I bite my tongue and look at Carol desperately, but she's still watching the walkers coming towards us.

Finally she turns around and half runs in, Daryl pushes her first, then me. He shuts the door behind himself and we're in a dark hallway. It's cold and the air is still. This place hasn't been touched in a while. We walk down a hallway with marble floors that echo with our steps. Daryl shines a flashlight so we're not totally in the dark. The hallway leads to a more open lobby type space, with marble columns the same light shade as the floor. This place is too nice to have been used for long when it started. Maybe a few got in, or maybe more just never left.

Daryl's flashlight hits a walker, it's slouched against the wall, barely keeping its head up. Or maybe its head is slouched to the side. Whatever the case, its not moving. We get closer to study it, to pilfer whatever it died with Daryl bends down and grabs some keys off its belt. And walks to Carol who's standing at a glass door, I follow slowly behind, doing whatever Daryl does. Carol opens the door and does a quick look around, Daryl holds up the flashlight, and grabs my arm, pushing me to go through before him. It appears to be an office, what with the filing cabinets and the swivel, blue arm chair with the black arm rests. A wooden desk with piles of scattered papers. There's a couple lounge chairs with side tables and lamps. Perhaps people waited here for something. Maybe it's a doctor's office? There's another door on the left at the end of the room that Daryl moves towards.

"You use' ta work here or somethin'?" Daryl asks her. Carol seems to have a pretty decent idea of what she's doing and where she's going.

"Something," Carol agrees, almost mumbling under her breath. I get the idea that this place doesn't exactly bring her happy memories, what_is_ this place?

Daryl heads for a second door I hadn't noticed originally, it's on the wall facing the door we walked in from. Daryl and Carol push the desk in front of that door. We go through the first door I noticed into a black hallway. Daryl's flashlight catches the light of several doors that line the hallway, I follow Carol's footsteps as she seems to have an idea of the direction we need to go. She unlocks one door and we appear to have walked into a bedroom. A couple sets of bunk beds line the walls, there's some more side tables with books on them. I can't help myself, I go to the books.

"What's this place?" Daryl asks, it's definitely not a doctor's office, that's for sure.

"Temporary housing," Carol explains. I turn my head from the book entitled_ Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse_. Was Carol... no, she couldn't have been, she's so strong. Then again, the strongest people arise from hard situations. You aren't just born tough. You have to earn that title. Daryl walks up behind me, his flashlight shining down on the book, he looks at it for too long. Like he's considering something. I look back to Carol.

"You came here?" I ask quietly, I feel as though it shouldn't be me to ask that question.

"We didn't stay," Carol informs me. When I turn back around the book is gone and Daryl's taken off his crossbow. I guess this is where we're holing up for the night. I walk across the room to the other bunk bed, and I sit down on the bottom bunk. I unlace my boots and keep them close to the bed in case we have to run. I lay down on my side, facing Carol and Daryl, my gun still clutched in my right hand. I click the safety back on, but I keep the gun next to me.

"I'll take the top bunk," Carol announces setting her stuff on top. The bunk beds aren't tall, they're made for children, Carol can easily place her stuff on top from the ground, "I think that one's more your style." she jokes, the bedding on the lower bunk is pink and rather frilly. I bite my tongue so that I don't laugh.

"You should sleep. I'll take first watch." she informs him

Daryl removes his jacket, "Place's locked up pretty tight."

Carol walks over to a window that's letting in the moonlight, keeping this room from being pitch black, "I know." this place definitely haunts Carol, for whatever reason. I doubt she could sleep if she had the chance to.

"Then we're good, then." Daryl lifts his eyebrows at her.

"I'll take first watch," she stays firm, "I don't mind."

"Suit yourself," he drops his jacket and walks over to me, squatting down so we're on the same level. He rests one arm on his knee, and uses the other to grab the bed frame to stay balanced.

"You doin' ok, here?" he asks, "You settled in?"

I shrug, "As settled in as I'm gonna get."

Daryl lets out a sigh, "Listen, Sam. I'm sorry I let ya come. I shoulda made ya stay. Ya shouldn't be here."

"I don't mind," I shrug again, "You shouldn't be here either. Neither should Carol, but plans change. And now we're gonna go get Beth. It all works out."

Daryl's eyes go to the ground, "It ain't ok. I can't be puttin' ya life at risk like I am. You shouldn't neither. It ain't my place. I ain't yo daddy."

"Daryl, I can take care of myself. I did a pretty damn decent job of it after the prison. And I was shot then. I know how to survive. I can help, I wanna help. I wasn't any use back at the church. But I can be here. We'll make it out, I know we will. And we'll bring back Beth too. Maggie will be so happy to see her again."

Daryl resigns, whether or not he believes the words I say is anybody's guess, "Alright, kid. I'll make sure ya get back. Beth too. Now go on, get some shut eye. If you're gonna help, you're gonna take a shift." he ruffles my messy blob of hair. I pull the blanket at my feet around my body and I shut my eyes, sleeping rushing on faster than I expected. I hear the springs of a mattress creaking as I assume Daryl sits down, then I hear Carol and Daryl's voices, but I'm too far gone to understand what they're saying

That night I dream we're back out on the road. It's_ that_ night, that awful, awful night.

I watch it all happen again, from a onlooker perspective instead of myself. But that doesn't make it any less terrible to relive. I watch myself and Carl be wrenched from the broken down car. I see the guns pointed at Rick and Michonne. I watch the knife blade slice the waistline of my pants. Even though I'm not in my body, I feel everything just as it was. My chest tightens up and I can't breathe.

_Wake up!_ I shout to myself._ Wake up, wake up, wake up! It's just a dream, you're dreaming!_

My eyes shoot open and I'm drenched in a cold sweat, the blanket is twisted up at my ankles. I sit up and hold my head trying to bring myself back to reality.

"Sam?" I hear Carol whisper. I blink my eyes hard and turn towards Carol. She's sitting with her back propped up against the back of Daryl's bunk. Daryl's knocked out. I see Carol's hand shift from the mattress and she pushes herself up and walks over to sit on my bed.

"Are you ok?" she asks. She holds her hands in her lap, as if she wants to help me, but she's holding herself back from it.

"Yeah," I swallow roughly, "Just a nightmare." I lean back a little to get more comfortable, "Carol, were you gonna leave us?" the question has been burning too profusely not to be asked.

She gives me a sad look, "I'm not sure dear,"

I sit up even straighter so she'll know I'm serious, "Carol please don't leave us again, please don't leave_ me_ again."

She doesn't reply, "Sam, I don't think you understand-"

"But I do understand, you're afraid. For some reason. Just like you were when you came_ here_ the first time. But you didn't stay last time, and I won't let you stay again. Please come back Carol. We need you."

She draws one of her hands slowly and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, "You've changed since the prison, Sam. You're not that shy, quiet girl anymore. Your dad would be proud." I duck my head, biting down on my lips. She isn't addressing the problem at hand here. She's part of our family, why would she just leave?

"I'm supposed to take a shift," I tell Carol. If she's not gonna talk about it, then as painful as it may be for myself, I shouldn't push her, "You should get some sleep. I'm fine here."

Carol draws her lips to a line, "Ok, just wake Daryl when you're tired, alright?" she stands up and goes to her bunk, climbing up and then laying down.

I exhale and I scoot back so that my back is propped against the wall. I make sure my gun is right next to me. And then I just sit there. I love it. I'm alone, but somehow it's relieving instead of disheartening. I couldn't fall back asleep if I wanted, I'm petrified of going back to that dream world. Except it wasn't a dream. It happened, and that makes it all that much scarier.

You gotta stay tough in this world, even if it's hard sometimes.


	55. Us

For as long as I've been part of the prison, part of 'the group', I've been part of an 'us'. We come first, always, everyone else, you just don't know anymore. And I like that, it feels good to know people have your back, in a way that didn't quite happen at Woodbury.

Daryl wakes up a couple hours later, or at least it feels a couple hours, and he tells me I can go back to bed now, that'll he'll take over watch. It's not easy, but I manage to drift into a dreamless sleep. I wake up with sun shining through the window. I rub my face and roll over to face the other bunk beds, expecting to see at least Carol on top. Instead I see no one. I bolt up too quick and smack my head on the top bunk. I wince and hold my head for a second as I look around. Even the weapons are gone.

_They wouldn't have left me. No._

I fumble to get my shoes on and tied and then I grab my pistol. It's just chance that something outside the window catches my eye as I start to head out the door.

Smoke.

I stop and stare out the window. Smoke coming from below. I turn and continue out the door down a couple flights of stairs and find my way to what appears used to be a break room, with coffee pots and vending machines and the like. I look out the window there and I see the fire, I see Carol and Daryl standing there, watching the fire. I shouldn't disturb them. There's no real emergency here. I think Carol even left her bag in the room. So I go back up the stairs and back to our room and sit back on my bed and wait for them to come back. It's not too long when they return, Daryl holding the door open for Carol.

"Have you been awake long?" Carol asks, she walks to her bag on the bunk.

I shake my head, "No, but I saw your bag on the bed and I figured y'all would come back for it." I sound more confident than I initially felt, and I don't even bring up the idea of them leaving me. Carol starts packing up her things and Daryl stays by the door.

"That car was headed downtown." Daryl says, "I say we get up in one of the tall ones, get ourselves a view, see what we see."

I stand up because we're about to move and I can't be caught bumming around.

"We can stay close to the buildings and keep quiet, but sooner or later, we're gonna be drawing 'em." Carol slings her backpack on her shoulder and then heads out the door, I follow after her and Daryl follows behind me.

Daryl's got something like a notebook in his hand. It doesn't take long for him to stash that so he has both hands available for any possible combat we may encounter. We exit the building filled with Carol's bad memories and head out onto the deserted streets of downtown Atlanta. We head down a couple blocks and pass a parking garage. We hear the dead all around us, so we keep at a cautious jogging pace. Daryl's taken to the front and Carol covers the rear.

There's a desolate car at the intersection ahead, front door strewn open, no windows, rusting black paint job. Only the rims remain on the wheels. Pilfers were here, scraping for what they could. Lonely little survival groups, probably similar to the size of our own. Of course they started with more, like our groups always do. But one by one they've been picked off. Couldn't run fast enough, too many walkers, went crazy, some may have ended it when they couldn't stand it any longer. That bullet was probably the best meal they'd had in weeks. The others, though upset, pondering the option themselves. Except for one, always driven to go on. Determined that there's something better. That the world can't just _end_. Those are the ones that survive. I guess that's us.

Daryl peeks around the corner and draws back quick. I guess he's found where the moans are coming from. Judging by the smell that's in the dead air, there's a lot of them. Must be real close too.

"All right, we can get up there. There's a bridge." he explains, he slings off the sack that's on his other shoulder and digs out that notebook. He pulls out a silver, metal cigarette lighter and pawns off its flame. Once it catches and flames up, he tosses, creating a distraction, hopefully moving the attention away from us. It lands in a pile of debris, cardboard boxes and paper, it creates a bigger flame and the walkers are drawn like moths.

We wait a moment longer and then he sneaks around the corner, I grab the bag he left and throw it on my shoulder. Then I follow, knees bent in a crouch, pistol in hand, safety off, rounds in the chamber. In other words, ready for hell. There's a parking garage about 50 feet away that Daryl runs into, Carol and I follow, we run through the covered area, and we don't stop moving but once we're in an open area Daryl slows down and reaches back for his bag, I hand it to him and we keep moving.

It's dumb I know, but I can't help but get the sensation we're being followed. Maybe it's just all the dead around us, but something definitely doesn't feel right.

There's a large, painted black arrow with the stenciled words 'Sky bridge', pointing towards a door much smaller than the actual arrow. Daryl heads for that door and opens it carefully, only slightly at first, so if there's a mob behind the door he can shut it real fast. There's not. Daryl peeks in and the groans come past him, but they sound almost muffled by something. I frown and am almost tempted to sneak a look myself just to figure it out, but then he moves so I can. He nods and Carol and I follow him into the room.

You don't see the walkers right away, we have to walk and turn the corner. I see something I don't think I've ever seen before. Walkers in sleeping bags. They're trapped. Like little worms- ok these would be the biggest worms I've ever seen.

_Walker worms. _

_Yes. That's what they are._

There's also tents set up. There's dead ones in there too. They paw at the canvas of the zipped tents, never able to escape. It's rather sad honestly. We put the ones in the sleeping bags out of their misery and leave the ones in the tents. They're not hurting anyone.

Daryl stands up after putting out his last one, "Some days, I don't know what the hell to think." he walks to where he put an arrow in one and pulls it out and continues across the sky bridge.

These walkers lived in here, there's still clothing lines with wash clothes, and clothes scatter the floor. I feel my heart in my throat when I see a dress that couldn't have belonged to someone bigger than Judith.

I peer out the window and my eye catches movement in our building about a story down. It's too quick to be a walker. _What the hell is going on?_ I stick close to Carol and Daryl, whoever that was, may not be alone.

_What are you thinking? Don't you think Daryl and Carol would've noticed by now if we were being followed? I mean, this is Daryl we're talking about._

_You must be imagining things, there's no other way. We aren't being followed._

I turn back around, "C'mon girlie," Daryl grunts through the arrow in his mouth, he's holding open a door with chains around the handles. Carol must've already slipped through. I squeeze on through, and then let Daryl in.

He hands Carol his bag and crossbow, and mutters "It's a good thing we skipped breakfast," as he wiggles through the tight opening. As soon as he's through, he kicks back up into a standing position and Carol gives him back his belongings.

We continue through a couple more halls and then take the stairs up a couple floors. We maze through a couple more hallways until we find a set of rather fancy double doors.

They're made of dark wood with golden handles. It feels out of place in this world. Don't the doors know we left fancy behind a while back?

Daryl approaches the doors first, I guess so he can scope the place. Carol holds my shoulders as Daryl lets the door creak open, He peeks his head in and when nothing immediately attacks him, he pushes the door all the way open and gives us a whistle to let us know it's ok.

I come in behind Carol and look around, it's definitely the office- or ex-office, I should say- of some head honcho, CEO type of guy, who was obviously raking it in. Expensive looking paintings and pottery decorate the office and huge, 10 foot windows let in the sunlight. It's a shame it's a pretty cloudy day. Once you walk in a little you notice a niche in the wall where two large, leather seats are. In the center of the office is another, even bigger leather seat where the boss must have sat. It's behind a mahogany desk that stretches out to be longer than I am if I laid across it. It all feels foreign to me. Like I don't belong here. As though this is some untouched tomb to the previous life.

I hate it.

I stand by the corner where the niche begins while Carol and Daryl explore the place a little more. Daryl studies a picture on the desk, probably of the boss' family, while Carol stands at the over-sized window, peering at the desolation below. Daryl joins her not too long after and I can't bring myself to go over there.

"How did we get here?" Carol asks quietly

Daryl gives a passive grunt, like he doesn't know either.

_Do any of us know? I mean really? It's not like we chose this life. This isn't what anyone wanted._

"We just did." Daryl says finally, like it's the only thing he can think of. The only thing that makes sense.

"You still haven't asked me what happened." Carol comments, "After I met up with Tyreese... the girls..." she's lowering her voice even more. I get the idea that I shouldn't be listening. It feels wrong to. _This is their private moment, what am I doing here?_ Yet, I want to know. _What did happen? What changed?_ Because I know something has.

_The girls_. It registers later than it should. Lizzie and Mika. They're not here. And I don't mean here as in this building. I mean here at all, with our group, back at the church. They're gone._ Dead_. They were so young. A chill courses through my body. I mean, Lizzie was always a little crazy, but nothing I think she deserved to die for. She had a place in this world, she just hadn't found it yet. And Mika... I bite my tongue, trying to hold back the wave of emotions that hit me. She was so sweet, she definitely didn't deserve to die. So even though I shouldn't listen, I do, because I have to know how this tragedy came to be.

"Yeah, I know what happened," Daryl slings his crossbow onto his shoulder. He's probably done the same math I have. But Daryl's been through more than I have, so he doesn't wonder like I do, "They ain't here."

"It was worse than that," Carol's voice cracks slightly.

She swallows, trying to prepare herself, trying to find a way to tell what she knows. Daryl turns her head towards her. And he looks at her for a bit before finally speaking, "The reason I said we get to start over is because we gotta. The way it was..." he trails off.

"Yeah," Carol agrees, rather passively.

The two continue to stare at the window until Daryl shifts positions and he cranes his neck, shielding his eyes, to look out the window. He steps back from his position.

"You see something?" Carol asks, trying to spot what Daryl's scoping out.

"I dunno," he grumbles, still trying to see whatever it is caught his eye, "Hand me that rifle." he puts down the crossbow and takes the gun she hands him. He peers down the scope. After a few seconds, he puts it down and hands the rifle back to her, "Right there," he taps the glass. I decide I should walk over there and see what's up. I try and find out where Daryl's pointing. I squint a little and I see it. At least, I think I do. It's one of those big white vans, but from here it's not much more than a blob.

"It's been there a while," Carol comments, "Definitely one of 'em."

"Lemme see the gun," I ask, she hands it to me and I peer down the scope and I find the van. It's got blacked out windows and 2 white crosses across the back. Just like the ones on the car we chased here.

I hand the gun back to Carol, "Definitely some kind of lead," Daryl says

"We should fill up," Carol turns around and walks away from the window, Daryl stays. I look up at Daryl.

"Alright," then he turns around and studies the painting to my left. I stay by the window, but I turn around too. Carol's collecting water and Daryl's trying to figure out this painting.

Carol takes a drink of the water, "Hmm," she mumbles through her drink, "What?"

"Bet this cost some rick prick a lot of money," Daryl scoffs at one of the paintings on the wall. Carol offers him a drink, he takes the canteen, "Looks like a dog sat in paint, wiped its ass all over the place." he comments on the odd streaks.

_He's not wrong._ I crack a smile.

"Really? I kinda like it." Carol smirks

Daryl snorts, his own smirk as he looks at her, "Stop." he takes a swig of water then offers it to me. I gladly take it and take a good drink, the water feels good against my dry throat.

"I'm serious," Carol insists, "You don't know me." There's a joking tone in there, but sometimes I wonder if it's true. _Do we really know each other? Or do we just know why we're banded together. _

"Yep, you keep tellin' yourself that." Daryl smirks, Carol's gotten her bags back on her shoulder, we're about to head out. I fill up at the water spout one more time. We don't know the next time we're gonna see clean water. We gotta get it while we can.

We head back down all those stairwells and hallways until we're back again at the door to the sky bridge. Carol crawls through first again, Daryl holds the door open for her and I stand beside Daryl.

I get that feeling in my gut again, the one where I think we're being followed.

I should at least mention it to Daryl, get it off my chest.

"Daryl," I start, real quiet, because when we speak in hallways like this, it has to be that way, "do you ever get the feeling we're being followed?"

Daryl gives a quick shake of his head, "Nah, kid, you can put your mind at ease. We're safe-"

Just as those words pass his lips, Carol cuts in, "Daryl don't."

But he's already crouching to get through, he can't hide now, Daryl shoots me a look that I understand without any words, '_stay put_'.

"Get up," I hear a voice on the other side of the door.

There's nothing I can do.

"Hands up. Both of you." the voice orders.

My hands curl into angry fists.

"Lay down your crossbow," he orders to Daryl.

I start forming a plan in my head. _If you hear shots, run_. Not much of a plan, but it'll have to do.

"You got some sack on you," Daryl scoffs, obviously not going down without a fight. Terminus still fresh on his mind.

"Look, nobody has to get hurt, I just need the weapons, that's it." he tells them lies, I can feel it, "So please, lay down your crossbow."

At first I hear nothing, then the slight shifting of metal, he must have put it down. And if this guy isn't asking for Carol's rifle, he must already have that.

"Back up," he snaps. My fingers wrap around my pistol, stuffed in my waistband.

More near silence, but I can just make out the moans of the tent walkers.

"Sorry about this," and I tense up, prepared for the bullets that must be about to fly. I pull the pistol, but my hands are shaking. Dread, I decide, must be the worst thing of all.

"You look tough," I hear again, "You'll be alright."

_Not if you kill them!_

I lift my pistol now, in case he decides to come through doors. I'm shaking so hard with this dread I couldn't possibly shoot straight.

I wait and I wait, but the sounds of the walkers just get louder. He must have sliced the tent, maybe he didn't completely disarm them. Daryl's got his knife, and I think Carol has a small revolver, and I recall her having a knife as well.

I hear a shot. And I clench my teeth. _Do I run? Do I-_ Another shot rings out, my body turns now, but my feet won't go. _They can't have gone that easily right?_

"Sam!" Daryl calls, and I about collapse with relief. I push my way through the doors and Carol's running out the door, "C'mon." and he takes off after her, I sprint after him and we're stopped at the door to the parking garage, the filthy bastard must of locked it. Daryl curses under his breath, then we go back the way we came and we fly down a staircase to the next floor. Daryl walks quickly at the front as we try to find another way to the parking garage.

"Three bullets," Carol shakes her head.

"Actually I've got 10 in my clip." I pipe in quietly, Carol and Daryl are walking side by side now and I'm just keeping up behind them.

"Ok, 13, like it makes too much of a difference," Carol grimaces, "We're in the middle of a city. He was stealing our weapons." the way she speaks, I feel as though Carol was trying to make the point to herself, rather than to convince Daryl or me, "Did you think I was gonna kill him? I was aiming for his leg." Still Daryl says nothing and my suspicions grow stronger as Carol carries on, "Could that I have killed him? Maybe, I don't know. But he was stealing our weapons." she tries to rationalize.

We've arrived at a door, and when it doesn't open immediately, Daryl uses his knife to try and and pry it open, "He was a damn kid." Daryl grumbles, "Wadn't much older than Sam."

_A kid? Why was he on his own then? At least I'm assuming, and why was he here? Unless he's with the people who took Beth_.

"Without weapons we could die." Carol points out, "Beth could die."

"We'll find more weapons," Daryl insists

Carol lowers voice to almost a mumble, "I don't want you to die." then she raises it again, "I don't want Beth to die, or Sam to die. I don't want anybody at the church to die, but I can't stand around and watch it happen either." she's started almost pacing now like she can't stand being still any longer, "I can't. That's why I left. I just had to be somewhere else."

"Well you ain't somewhere else," Daryl snaps back, turning away from his lock picking for a moment, "you're right here. Tryin'."

Carol turns to me, "Sam, go over there and take watch, make sure any walkers don't sneak up on us or anything, ok?" she points about 50 yards away. I see what this is, she wants to talk to Daryl without minding what she says around me.

I comply and walk to where she suggests. Immediately I hear the hiss of whispers I just barely cannot understand. Then I hear the door pop open and I look over. Carol finishes, and Daryl looks at her for a moment and turns and calls to me, "C'mon kid."

We walk out of the parking garage and that's when we start running. Daryl in front, then me, then Carol. And I follow, knowing well that I'm the most well-armed, and that's pretty damn scary to think about. I almost offered Daryl my gun, because he could use it too, but I remember how awful it feels to be useless in a fight, and if I give up my pistol, I will be unarmed. At least Daryl has a knife.

We creep around buildings, trying to make it to the bridge, eventually we're out of downtown and you can see much farther, making it harder for a walker to sneak up on us, so Daryl slows down to a walk, and then I do, then Carol. Carol walks past me and keeps side by side with Daryl, I decide I'm ok with being in the back. Finally we're on the bridge, and I can just make out the outline of the van in the distance. Its front end is over the edge and dipping down, the back wheels are in the air.

When we reach it, it's Daryl who goes to open it up. The doors creak open but there's nothing inside.

"Alright, let's get this done," Daryl moves towards the doors like he's about to climb in.

"It's not stable," Carol shakes her head, "I'm lighter."

_Well if we're gonna play that game, I'm obviously the lightest here._

Daryl ignores her, and hops up, the van creaks. But that's not the noise that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Groans. I turn and there are four walkers stumbling our way.

Daryl crawls into the van, carefully stepping. Carol nods her head at me to go. I gingerly step into the van. Each creak makes me stiffen. Once I'm up, I move to the side so Carol can get in, Daryl's checking out the front, but I'm afraid of moving that close to the edge. So I over near the door, bent over, ready to close the doors if necessary. Carol crawls through the front and at this point, Daryl's sitting in the front seat, rummaging through the papers. The van creaks and moans, warning us of our weight here. The sound of moans from walkers over powers the van's creaks and I peek my head out only to see at least 20 walkers headed our way.

"There's more coming!" I announce, Daryl and Carol look out of the passenger window, analyzing the situation.

"We're gonna have to fight through," Carol turns back to Daryl, there's a look in her eyes, she doesn't think we can do it.

I look out again. There's even more. Plus the four coming from the other side. Three of us, at least 30 of them. All attacking us at once. No, our chances of fighting through them do not look good at all.

"Yeah I see 'em," Daryl growls, he's got a plan in mind.

He gets up out of the drivers seat and flips over a gurney, "GMH, what's that stand for?"

"Grady Memorial, maybe?" I absentmindedly suggest. I went there once, I was on a field trip in Atlanta and I broke my arm. The doctors were nice there.

"Grady, the white crosses- it might be where they're holin' up." Daryl suggests. Carol hops out of the van and then Daryl, I've already clicked the safety off of my gun, and have a round in the chamber when I jump out. Carol fires, never a shot wasted. But her three don't go far, not nearly far enough. Daryl grabs one by the shirt, and stabs it with his knife.

BOOM! I fire one shot, it lands in the skull of my target and it collapses to the ground.

"Daryl!" Carol yells. There's too many. I knew there was too many.

BOOM! I fire off another, taking down my closest enemy.

"Sam, get yer ass in the van now!" Daryl commands over the moans of the walkers. He's protecting the entry to the van. I duck under his arm.

"Go, go, go!" he shouts to Carol. I push myself up into the van, and crawl backwards, I feel the creaking beneath my feet, and Carol pushes me further in as she enters next. Daryl makes it in and slams the door. The walkers slap against the door, their roars and moans only muffled, not silenced. The closer Daryl moves, the more I hear the van shaking. My heart rate rockets even higher.

"Anything we can use?" Carol shouts, the smack of the dead's hands against the van is loud.

"Nothin' but what we got," Daryl shakes his head. He dashes past me into the driver's seat and Carol goes to the passenger seat. My arms shake. _What are we doing. What the hell are we doing._

"Sam," Carol grabs my arm, and pulls me into the seat with her, we're both built thin, but we're crammed into this seat made for one.

"Hold on," calls Daryl,"buckle up." I reach up and grab the seat belt and hand it to Carol, she buckles it in and she braces herself against the dash and pushes back on the chair. I grab the door handle fearfully and push back on the chair.

Daryl puts his hand on top of hers, "Hold on," he repeats and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't stand this anymore.

My mind imagines all kinds of horrible things. Starting and ending with, this is how I go, this is how _we _go. There won't be an _us_ to save Beth, there won't be an_ us_ to go back to the church. We won't be part of the_ us_ that comes first anymore.

Then the van dives, and for a moment, I feel nothing.

_Dear God, if you're up there. Please save us._

* * *

A/N: Sorry everyone for such a long wait! It just takes some time for me to write the chapters with school and all, sometimes I just don't feel like writing or I get distracted, so my apologies for that. However I hope this was worth the wait, as always leave your opinions (perferably in ways that can help me as a writer, or just an extended opinion, the more detailed a review is, the more motivating that is to me, and I'm always open to hearing about things you didn't like about the chapter!)

Also, I will never just STOP writing a story, I will always let y'all know in advance if I'm ever going to go on hiatus or I plan to work on another story. So no matter how long a wait, just assume I'm procrastinating rather than I just left y'all hanging.

One more thing since I'm already leaving an Author's note... How would y'all feel if I started a series of oneshots about Sam's life at the prison? Keep in mind, this would be before the actually 'Sam' story started, so there wouldn't be much Carl interaction. But if you want to know Sam's thoughts or her experiences at the prison, this is the story for you :). If you want more details feel free to PM me, and if you think this is something you'd be interested, put in a review about that too!

Thanks so much to everyone for reading and reviewing it really does mean the world to me.


	56. Watch

Watching my surroundings is nothing new to me, it comes with the observation and the tendency to not talk. I always sort of prized myself on my ability to be a careful watcher, to pick up on the little details that no one else might have noticed. Of course, I never verbally expressed this skill. I just casually mention things in passing that I've picked up on. Little notes on the world if you will. It helped before the turn and I'd dare say it's saved my life after.

Everything inside me rattles when we hit the ground. The reverberations course through my legs, up my spine, forking into my gut, making its way so even my teeth clatter, then my brain quakes back and forth. But that's how I know I'm alive. The impact knocks the air from my lungs and I fight to bring it back, but the deep breathing hurts, probably a bruised rib or two, I'll live. I lift my head, and my neck aches, probably from the whiplash that I no doubt suffered. I feel where the pistol dug into my back from my waistband. All these things are recoverable. I wiggle my toes and move my legs. _Yes, I am fine. _

I feel Carol move next to me, and I know she's alive too. I sit up and look over at Daryl, he's alive too. We all made it.

The airbag deployed for Daryl, and Carol is still braced back in her seat, she turns to me then to Daryl, "We're ok. We're ok." she's still catching her breath too. The breathing deep still hurts and I decide it's not going to go away.

_**CLUNK!**_ A walker smashes into the windshield, it fell down from the bridge like raindrops from hell. Its brain spattered against the broken glass. But it's only the first one, the rain picks up until it's a downpour, they all clatter onto the van and we just sit there waiting, trying to recover.

Finally it stops and Carol reaches across me and opens the door, she unbuckles us, handing the buckle to me and I return it to its original place. Then I hop out and pull out my gun. Moving my arms inflames the dull pain on my side. I step to the side so Carol can get out. I've still got 8 rounds in my gun, that should help us make it to Grady Memorial.

Carol walks around to the other side slowly, with her head down, holding her shoulder. She may be alive, but she's definitely hurt. "God," she mutters under her breath, she winces, "Ow." I walk beside her and work my arm under her good one, she leans against and her breathing is labored. I get us around to the front of the car where Daryl is.

"I'll take her," Daryl tells me and I let go and he fills in. I trail behind the two of them, with my gun ready in case any trouble arises.

Walker parts and pieces are strewn all over the place. The top half of walker growls and stretches up, trying to reach for me, but I half scoff and stamp its brains out, it goes still. Then I catch up with Carol and Daryl. I want to help Carol, but her other arm is the hurt one, or maybe it's her shoulder that's hurt.

We make it back into the city, I had to use 3 more bullets to get there, but we made it. We find an alleyway, and Daryl gets Carol to sit down on a loading dock.

"Here," he offers her the canteen of water.

"I'm fine," she tries to tell him

He shrugs, "Prove it."

She takes the canteen with her good arm and takes a drink of water.

I stay standing, watching for walkers. I worry, W_hat if there's a herd of them? Carol can't run, and we certainly can't leave her._

"How bad is it?" Daryl asks

Carol gives a passive gesture, "Had worse," then she eases her shirt away to expose her injury. The healing scar on my shoulder aches as I relate to her pain.

Her word choice '_I've had worse_' is concerning to me. _When has she faced worse? _She makes reference to it in a way Daryl understands somehow.

"Damn, that was stupid." Daryl shakes his head.

"We made good time down," Carol remarks. Daryl scoffs, sitting down next to her, I'm tempted to sit as well, but I don't wanna leave us vulnerable. My ribs beg otherwise.

_I ain't got it that bad. I'll deal._

"There's only three blocks between us and Grady," Carol states

"We need ta find a place nearby, scope it out, see what we can see." Daryl says, always the man with the plan.

Carol looks at him, "You really think we're gonna find out what we need to know just by watching?" she's doubtful.

Daryl takes a drink from the canteen, "It's where we start."

I hear snarls from behind me and I whirl around, "Walkers!" I hiss loudly. Daryl's head spins this direction, he grabs something from the side of the loading dock, and walks quickly, with a purpose, like he always does when he's about to get shit down. He throws the object at me, it's a metal rake of some sort. My reflexes are quick and I catch it with both hands, my ribs stinging slightly.

"Don't shoot unless ya gotta, we don't wanna draw more." Daryl instructs, then continues that walking thing, a little quicker at the walker pack of about 5 and starts taking them down. I quickly follow suit, I kick a walker to the ground and then swing the rake off my shoulder into its skull. Blood explodes everywhere, including on me. I raise the rake once more and slam it down again, just for good measure. Then I yank out the rake from the walker mush and I take down the next one coming at me without kicking it to the ground. The first strike leaves it motionless so I turn, looking for the next one. But Daryl's already ripping the knife out of the last one.

He walks back to Carol, still at that purposeful speed, he grabs his bag, "C'mon."

I continue to put that rake to work as we make our way up three blocks, it's a messy weapon, but it gets the job down. Daryl continues to help Carol walk and I make sure the walkers stay out of the way.

We reach a building that Daryl has to bust a lock open to, Carol sits on the steps and I guard, my gore covered rake ready to strike. The lock bust open and Daryl makes sure the building isn't a herd filled trap and then helps Carol to her feet, I come in behind and then we take 10 flights of stairs, resting every two floors so Carol can catch her breath. We find an office with a window view on the 10th floor and Carol's finally starting to walk on her own again. As we enter an office with the door carelessly strewn open, we find a walker on the ground, it appears to be paralyzed from the waist down. In its hand, clutched, but useless otherwise is a machete, Daryl picks it up and uses it to take out its former owner. He stands up and Carol walks to the window.

"It's them," she confirms at the building straight ahead

Daryl points to a desk chair, "Have a seat kid, ya earned it." he hands me a bag of stale Cheese Nips. I take my seat, propping the rake up on the wall next to me. I open the bag and watch Daryl walk over to Carol. He hands her a bag of some kind, "Alright, let's see what we can see." We eat and they look out the window and at each other, sometimes one of them will cast a glance back at me, just to make sure I'm still fine. When I finish, I ball up my bag and toss it on the ground. Littering doesn't matter much anymore, it's not like we're going to be here for any length of time.

They start talking to each other, keeping their voices low, which means I'm not supposed to hear, so I don't bother with listening. I decide to get up and see what this room holds.

This room doesn't have the tomb-y feel as the other office did, this one has displaced items, bullet holes in the walls, papers scattered on the floor. There's a wooden desk pressed up against the wall, I pilfer through its drawers to find a nearly empty bottle of ibuprofen, a travel sized package of tissues, and a stress ball. The other drawers just hold files, papers, a jar of paper clips, and some pens. There's an ornately decorated one that calls my name and I decide to keep it. I stuff it in my jacket pocket and keep moving. Under the desk I find a small flashlight, I click it on and it works, so I take that too.

Around the room are opened cans of food, probably from the guy that Daryl slashed through, up by the door. There's a blanket stuffed into one of the shelves on a large, dark, wooden bookcase. It's right by the window, right by Carol and Daryl.

I'm not being nosy, I'm scavenging.

When I walk over to grab the blanket, I pick up on a few of the words Carol is saying, "-me and Sophia stayed at that shelter for a day and a half before I went running back to Ed. I went home, I got beat up-" I take the blanket and I turn away, pretending to be oblivious.

I don't react externally, even though on the inside I'm asking and answering a thousand questions. This knowledge makes some things make sense, but other things- it opens a whole new can of worms. _Sophia._ I remember the name, it feels like a lifetime ago that I heard it, but really it was back on the road when it was just me and Carl. When he was telling me about getting shot he said she ran when she shouldn't have. Now I know who Sophia was. Her story is complete, or as complete as it needs to be. But what about Ed? I can assume that was Carol's husband, not much of a husband from the sound of it. For Carol's sake I'm glad he's gone.

The idea of the Carol I know being beaten, and not fighting it is rather strange. And that's what gets me the most, still I walk away, over to the other side of the room. There's another bookshelf there, with actual books. I check out the shelves, my fingers running across each spine, most of them are almanacs, how-to's, or company policy manuals, but in the bottom right corner is a section of novels. I sit on the ground, placing the blanket in my lap, and pull one out. I start reading. The process is almost therapeutic to me, restoring the balance in my head.

Then I hear a clunk. I drop the book and the blanket, everything else is stowed in my pockets. I'm on my feet and at the door, rake in hand by the time Daryl and Carol get there. Then Daryl leads, we maze through the hallways, following the clunks that seem to be repeating with no rhyme or reason. We turn one corner and dead ahead is a walker, trapped against the wall by an arrow. Not just any arrow.

"Is that yours?" Carol asks

"Yeah," Daryl growls, the punk who stole our weapons is close. He slashes through the walker's skull and then rips out the arrow. One arrow down, two more plus a crossbow and that rifle to go.

Speaking of the rifle, rounds pop off drawing us nearer. This time Carol's in the lead, she goes to the left, finding the next corner, I'm right on her tail but she goes first and gets a walker thrown at her. It topples her over and she fights against it. Daryl comes up behind me to take care of it.

_He's getting away._

I drop my rake and I sprint past Carol and Daryl. _Not this time, he's not getting away this time._

The pistol bumps against the small of my back, tucked into my waistband. Reminding me that I might need it very soon. I pull it out, clicking off the safety and checking for a round while I continue running, whoever I'm chasing, their footsteps are louder than mine. I round a corner and shortly down the hallway leading into another room, I see him. He's trying to move a bookshelf from a doorway.

"Hands up." I stop about twenty feet from him. I hold up my gun, aiming for the head. The weapons are about five feet to his left.

He turns around to face me, his hands aren't raised though.

"Give me the weapons," I demand, my gun doesn't lower.

"Listen kid, I don't want any trouble." he insists.

"Then you shouldn't have taken our weapons," I counter, my brow furrowed.

A look of realization crosses his face, "You're with them?"

"Damn straight, buddy. And if you want to live, I suggest you give me those weapons back now." I growl.

"Kid, listen, no one has to get hurt I'm sure we can negot-"

I lift the gun approximately ten degrees, aiming just above this head, and I fire, no hesitation.

"That, was a warning shot. Next one won't be," I flick my eyebrows up as if daring him to defy me.

His eyes are wide now, hands raised, "Please! No one has to-"

"Sam!" Daryl calls, the bookshelf is swaying. I can't risk turning around.

"Weapons." I repeat myself, as if it's necessary, lowering the gun, aiming to go right between his eyes once more. The guy backs up, slamming against the bookshelf which falls on top of him. I turn around and Daryl's there.

"What the hell?" he walks past me and grabs our weapons, Carol's walking up not too far behind.

"Plea-please!" the boy begs Daryl for forgiveness, "I had to protect myself!"

"Why you followin' us?!" Daryl demands bending down, getting in the kid's face.

"I-I didn't! I swear! I thought you followed me!"

"Bullshit," snarls Daryl. He bends down to grab the last pack of cigarettes in the carton. That must've fallen from the bookshelf.

"Please!" the kid begs, "Please!" Daryl and Carol exchange a look.

"Nah, I already helped ya once. It ain't happenin' again." he lights his cigarette. I swallow hard. The kid is kind of a dumbass, and he did steal our weapons.

_You were prepared to blow his brains out._

_But that could be you. If you didn't have the prison, if you were lost after Woodbury. That could be you under that bookshelf, pleading for your life. _And I find a little sympathy for him.

"Have fun with Hoss over there," he picks up the crossbow and starts to walk away.

"No. No, no, no!" the guy begs, "No. No, no, no! Please! Please! Please! I'm sorry, please! - Please! Please, please!" he looks at me, his face reminds me of a hunted animal, one that's desperate, only now does it look to me, when he's got no one else to turn to.

Maybe it's the desperation in his eyes. Maybe it's the image of me struggling under that bookcase, still no family, and now about to be left for dead. But words come from my mouth.

"Daryl." I turn to him, "Daryl."

"Daryl." Carol says something now too, "Stop."

"You almost died 'cause a him!" Daryl points an accusing finger at the kid.

"But I didn't." she gives a valid point.

"Daryl! Please!" I speak a little louder, my guilt getting the better of me.

"Nah, let 'em be," he shakes his head and turns again.

"Daryl!" Carol calls after him, not leaving the kid as he walks away. The walker that's been inching his way has finally gotten through the door, he trips on the bookshelf, putting even more weight on the guy. I lift my gun to kill the corpse, but before I can fire, an arrow goes through its head. I turn, and Daryl's back.

Maybe he had second thoughts, all I know now is we're gonna let this kid live. I walk over and yank the arrow out of the corpse's head, handing it to Daryl, then I hoist the walker off of the bookshelf. Dead weight is awful heavy, so I can't move it that far. Carol and Daryl start lifting the bookshelf and the boy grunts, trying to help. I go over to Daryl's side and push up. My muscles ache with strain, between the events of the day and the fact that this bookshelf weighs a whole damn lot.

"C'mon, just a little more," Daryl encourages us, Finally we get it high enough for him to escape and he crawls back madly. Once he's all the way out we let go and the bookshelf thumps to the ground.

The kid is nearly panting 'thank you's' as he fights to regain his breath. He stumbles onto his feet and over to the window, Daryl makes sure Carol's ok, and I walk to the window, to apologize for- you know- sticking a gun in his face.

Before I get all the way over there, he turns around and starts muttering like a madman, still out of breath, "I gotta go. I gotta go. They're gonna come. They probably heard the shot. If they find me-"

"Who?" Daryl asks, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Them," his eyes still look frightened, "people at the hospital." he starts walking to Daryl.

Daryl meets him halfway with a hand on the kid's shoulder, "Wait, wait, wait, just tell us- is there a blonde girl there? - You see a blonde girl?"

"Beth?" he cocks his head at Daryl.

It's like every particle inside of me comes alive with a little more hope.

"You know her?" the guy asks, looking at all of us, our astounded faces revealing everything, "She helped me get out, but she's still there."

I hear a noise down below us, something moving out the window catches my eye, a car.

"They're coming," Carol warns.

"We gotta go now. We gotta go. We gotta go." he repeats over and over. Whatever these people are that took Beth, they aren't good. This guy seems to be terrified of them. And the fact that this guy had to escape with _help_, is just more bad news.

We head down stairs, but it isn't easy, this guy walks with an awful limp, either he was born that way, or he was shot, or something.

My heart's racing with adrenaline, or maybe the idea that we're so close to Beth.

"The building next door has a basement. It's clear. We'll be safe." he informs us, all while limping as fast as he can. It becomes too much and he trips.

He winces as Daryl goes to pick him up, "Go, I got him." he insists. I'm ahead of Carol so I'm first to the door, first out the door. I'm running and I don't stop, I don't turn watch for cars because that feels silly. I just have to cross the street. I'm almost across, at least halfway.

I feel as though I hit a wall. It came too fast, much too fast. Most of my consciousness is gone, I have the same sensation you get when you're falling asleep, you know you're falling asleep and it's only a matter of time before the void takes you. Except this time I'm not sure if I'll return. I'm just here enough to feel my limp body be tossed around like a rag doll, and to register the pain. So much pain. I've never hurt like this before. I feel the concrete scratch my skin as I hit pavement, I hear the screech of what must be the car. I feel every ounce of my being throb. I'm losing the fight. If only I had watched.


	57. Carl

Daryl Dixon cuts through the overgrowth. The cripple, Noah, trudging behind him. Stealth wasn't easy to come by with the young man's gait, so Daryl was forced to scout ahead in case the pair ran across any trouble. Daryl hadn't forgiven Noah for holding him back as he watched Sam get hit by the car. He was supposed to protect her, to bring her home. And then to see Carol already running toward her. There was no pulling her back to the shadows as Noah had done to Daryl. He'd lost both of them. This guilt powered Daryl to keep going, he had to make it back to the church.

He needed reinforcements to rescue Beth, Carol and Sam. Noah had explained some of the situation. It was a tightly kept ship around there. The cops apparently sticking to the top floors of the hospital. As far as Daryl figured, they had a decent set up. The higher levels would make it more difficult for walkers to attack. You keep the doors to the staircases shut, you've got it pretty well for city life.

However this would complicate the rescue. He didn't know what was on those bottom floors. No, that would be incorrect. He knew what was down there. He just didn't know how many.

He did know one thing though, they would succeed. He would bring Beth, Carol and Sam home.

Daryl flashes a halt sign to Noah. The steps and the dragging stop and Daryl creeps on ahead. If he calculated right, the church should be about 50 yards ahead. He pushes past some limbs, and in the faint darkness, he's sees the church. And a figure, Michonne.

He takes careful steps towards her. The woman is wicked with a sword, he doesn't want to spook her. The moonlight hits her figure and he can make out a smile spreading across her face, exposing her bright teeth. Then the smile fades, she's noticed he's alone.

"Where's Carol?" she asks, "Sam?"

Daryl stays silent for a moment, not sure how to answer the question. Then he turns his head, back to the blackness of the woods, "C'mon out," he instructs. The step-drag, step-drag is immediately recognizable, and after a few moments, Noah appears.

Michonne narrows her eyebrows, "Who is this?"

"Name's Noah, we found 'em in the city while we was lookin' fer Beth. He knows her, he's gonna help us rescue her." Daryl cocks a thumb at the kid.

"And Sam, Carol? Where are they?" Michonne prods, not content with the answer given.

Daryl draws his lips narrow again, "They got 'em. Like they got Beth. There wadn't nothin' we coulda done." he grits his teeth, knowing full well he could've killed the people that jumped out of the car and grabbed her, he could've saved her. Carol too, could've pulled her back. But Noah promised they had medicine and could help Sam and Carol. No one in the group was anything close to a doctor. Noah persuaded him that this was the only way.

"We gotta get 'em back," Daryl growls.

Michonne nods, "Come on in, you've... missed a lot." Daryl furrows his brow. But once he walks inside the church the change is immediately clear. The air is different, the faint smell of blood drifting.

Daryl's not in the church for more than 15 seconds when Carl Grimes turns around and sees him. The man steels himself. He knows the boy won't be happy with the news he brings. He's up on his feet, his eyes narrowed, Carl already knows something's not right.

"Where is she?" Carl demands, he's carrying his baby sister, Judith, in his arms.

"Carl," he starts, the boy only 10 feet away now.

"Where is she?" his voice becomes more firm. Daryl is sure Carl doesn't want to hear the answer. The boy is tough, Daryl knows this. He's seen it for years, he admires the young man's strength, even when it gets him into trouble sometimes. But all the same, Daryl knows this won't be easy for Carl.

"She's alive." Daryl promises. He hopes that's he's right. That he isn't promising Carl a dead girl.

"But where?" he presses. Judith whines in his arms. The young man is momentarily distracted as he bounces the baby, talking gently to her.

"The people that took Beth," Daryl explains once Carl looks up from Judith.

The boy's face is stern, trying to mask the emotions inside, "Why didn't you go after them? Couldn't you have stopped them?"

Daryl holds back the answer he's knows to be true, "Where's your dad?" He changes the subject.

Carl nods back to his right at the left door, "He's in there talking to Sasha and Tyreese."

"Thanks." Daryl replies briefly, pushing past the boy, leaving Carl discontent with the information he's been given.

Noah however stays put, eyeing up the blue-eyed, fifteen year old in the sheriff hat, "That girl, what's she to you?"

Carl tightens his expression, "That's my girlfriend." His mouth his held at almost a snarl, "Who are you?" He tries to remain open to the stranger, but given the situation, Carl finds this difficult. Daryl seems to trust this guy though, and Carl trusts the older man's judgement.

"I'm Noah." He extends his hand to shake with Carl's, "And that girlfriend of yours? She's one tough bitch."

"Damn straight," Carl almost chuckles, he balances Judith on one hip with a tightened grip, he extends the other to shake Noah's hand. This is the first boy Carl's encountered close to his own age since Patrick. Patrick was a handshaker too.

"I hope you know, that the best way to keep that girl alive, was to let her go with the people at Grady." Noah informs him.

Carl's brow knits deeper, "Keep her alive?" The child becomes intrigued and a little concerned, "Follow me, it's Judy's bed time anyway. Then you've got one hell of a story to tell." He turns around and takes Judith to her makeshift crib. He rests the drowsy baby amongst the blankets they've collected. He makes sure she's tucked in, her heavy eyelids fluttering shut. He watches his sister until her breathing evens out and he stands. He guides Noah to the other side of the church, so that their much needed conversation won't disturb the sleeping baby.

"Now," Carl instructs, "Tell me everything."

Noah explains to Carl his escape from Grady Memorial, not forgetting the details of Beth. Then he goes on to explain the process of following and retrieving Carol and Daryl's weapons, this makes Carl's eyes narrow, his trust in the stranger wavering. Then he tells him about Sam, and how she held him at gunpoint, demanding the weapons back. Noah catches the smirk forming on one side of Carl's face with these details. He finishes up with him falling, and Daryl urging Sam and Carol on ahead. The fatal mistake. He doesn't describe in detail the scene he saw. Sam's body tossing through the air like it wasn't even human. Just that she was hit, and the cops took her. And then capturing Carol. Who knows what they did to her after getting her into the car.

Carl grinds his teeth, "She said she'd be right back." He mumbles these words to himself. He'd been a fool to believe her, Carl knew something was up when Sam sent him away. Why hadn't he stayed with her, or persuaded her to go with him? Now he only hoped she was alive.

She was. Carl knew it. She wouldn't just leave him like this, not Sam, no way. Still, she made a dumbass move running out in front of the car like that. What was she thinking?

This thought didn't exactly help Carl, he was growing more distressed. He didn't want this near stranger to know it either. Carl wanted to befriend Noah, he did. Carl felt that Noah was a good person. But right now, he was too distracted to make any efforts on that path. He needed to talk to his dad.

Carl turned and left Noah, feeling the conversation was over. The door into Gabriel's office was cracked open. Carl pushes it open slowly, the noise of conversation stops.

Carl steps into the office and Rick looks past Daryl who's turned around, now facing Carl.

"Judy asleep?" Rick asks

Carl nods, "Dad, I want in. On the plan to rescue Beth, Sam, and Carol. I wanna go."

"Carl," Rick begins, already writing the boy off.

Carl's jaw tightens, fearing this would happen, "Dad I have to go. This is Sam we're talking about."

Rick purses his lips, "I need you here Carl."

"If Mom were still here and she was taken, you'd go after her. This isn't any different." Carl's tone becomes more firm, trying to make a point.

Rick runs his hand through his messy beard, "I need you here for Judy. Michonne is staying back too,"

Carl glares at his father. He knows he wants to be there for Judith, really, he never wants to leave his sister's side again. Not after he nearly lost her. His heart twinges, knowing his father is right, that he needs to protect his baby sister. But the boy also wants Sam back, and is willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Daryl speaks up this time, "We'll bring 'er back kid, don't you worry about it. Stay here with your sister, she needs ya."

The problem was, Carl would worry about it.

Both the older men knew that if they brought Rick's son along, the boy's emotions would indefinitely impair his judgement. A slip like that was something neither of them could afford.

Begrudgingly, Carl retreated and then men continued to make their tentative plan for the morning. Soon after, Daryl went to take watch and Rick went off to check on his son.

The boy was asleep, on the pew next to his sister's makeshift crib. His hat, placed on the ground. The boy faced in towards the back of the pew, falling hair obscuring his face.

The church was finally still and quiet, the remaining residents finding corners to sleep in, seeing as they hadn't had proper rest since arriving. It'd been a long 24 hours for the church, and Rick was sure the 24 hours they had ahead would be just as long.


	58. Dream

Dreams have always had this definite feel about them for me. I've never had a problem discerning the dreams from the reality. Nightmares are different though, I think I've always sort of known those aren't real too, but there was the fear factor involved. But really though, the world we live in_ is_ a fear factor. For Christ's sake the dead are walking, eating people's faces and everything else. But the dream state, it's fuzzy. The details are either way too clear or not clear enough. Things don't seem believable. They fade in and out. Dreams are strange, but dreams are just fiction of our minds.

It comes and goes. First, I only hear. To say_ hear_ might be too broad a term. I don't hear words and conversations, I can't pick out voices or even begin to comprehend the noise that enters my ears. It's kind of like static from a TV, just the roar, the kind that would hurt your ears if you weren't expecting it and you flipped to the wrong channel. I think I submerge back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Emerging however later, this time able to place words, but not from where they came, or really any clue as to where I am.

"...patient... half dead... wasting..."

Then I hear beeps. My ears weren't prepared for this. After all, when was the last time I heard an electronic beep? Maybe this is all just a dream.

_Or maybe I'm dead._

_Is that what comes after? Static and beeping?_

Something breaks through my miserable state of being. The sensation of familiarity is vague, but present. Maybe it's the words I can't quite process, maybe it's nothing.

* * *

Something happens. The beeps stop. I'm losing my grasp again._ What's happening?_

Now I can feel. I feel something coursing through me.

"Sam." there's the familiar again.

"It's Beth." I know I can't wake up any more than this. But now I at least feel alive, I feel warmth. It envelops me. Alive is nice. "I just wanted you to know I was here."

_Beth. She's alive. She's here_. Ease spreads across my body like a cool wave.

* * *

There's the static again. The voices that I hear, yet don't. The longer they fill my ears the more I come back. It comes out one word at a time, just picked out among the garble.

"...back..."

"...home..." the twinge of familiarity rings again, and I figure Beth must be back.

I discover something else that comes with feeling again, pain. It's everywhere. Breathing, I find, is difficult, more difficult than one could possibly imagine breathing to be. I'm failing again, my strength sapped and pain pulls me back under.

* * *

I can move when I come back. I turn my head, because my neck aches from the position it's been in. But I find the turning to be worse than the ache. I can sense someone by my feet, but I'm not sure if it's Beth. I'm not sure how long I was out, or if I'm even still at Grady Memorial. Assuming that's where I was in the first place.

Everything feels sharper now, I wiggle my fingers, and I hear properly again, "Sam?" that's Beth, definitely Beth.

The object at the foot of the bed shifts, whoever it is stands up. I hear shuffling from somewhere else. A moment later, my hand is circled in warmth.

"Sam?" Beth repeats, I make the effort to squeeze the warmth._ Come on now_, my eyes open. There's so much to take in at once. Beth is holding my hand and smiling widely. There's a cop behind her, with brown hair pulled back into a bun. She's decked in a full police officer uniform and her eyes bore into me. Like she's trying find every possible use for me. There's a gleam in her expression, like I owe her my life and I'm now in debt to her. Beth herself looks so different from the last time I saw her. My heart sinks as I realize how long its been, the fall of the prison. There's two massive, Frankenstein's-monster like stitches on her face. One of her wrists is in a cast and she's dressed in scrubs.

I don't have the energy to sit up, or to speak. But I manage to return Beth's smile.

"Dawn, may I have a word alone with... my friend?" Beth asks. The officer, Dawn, stares at me for a few more seconds.

"I'll be in my office." she replies sharply, "Glad to see you awake." she tells me flatly.

I want to tell Beth so many things, how happy Daryl will be to see her, how we were the ones who we supposed to rescue her, how much Maggie misses her, and yes her family is alive and safe.

"How are you feelin'?" she asks.

I close my eyes for a minute, trying to summon as much strength as possible, "Been better," I shrug, but I realize shrugging hurts my ribs, "Is Carol here?"

Beth nods, "Yeah, they picked her up with you. She wasn't nearly in as bad of shape as you though. They knocked her out cold, but she woke up yesterday."

It takes me a bit to comprehend was she says, but once I do I respond, "Yesterday? How long have I been here?"

"Just about a day now," Beth recalls, "would you like to take a shower? It looks like it's been a while."

_Shower? They have running water? _

_They have electricity, of course they've got to have water._

I nod, then my cheeks flush, "I might need some help though, I'm not even sure if I can sit up."

This crosses Beth's mind a second after I say this and her face forms to an expression of mixed humiliation and sympathy, "Of course," she shakes her head, "I should've figured."

"I'd like to though, maybe once I get on my feet it'll just fall into place." I suggest, trying not to discount her too much.

She nods, "Come on," she keeps hold onto my hand with one hand and helps push me up with the other. I try to do as much as I can on my own, but moving takes a lot more energy than I remember. The blanket falls away as I sit up, and I realize I'm in a hospital gown, it's solid light gray. I start to bend my arm when I realize I've got an I.V. in me. I manage to swing my legs over the bed. Every couple seconds Beth flashes me these concerned looks, but I just want to get back on my feet. I'm no use to anyone lying in that bed. My feet touch the ground and I stand. I see stars and I grab Beth's shoulder because I'm suddenly afraid of falling.

"It's ok, you're doing great." she reassures me. Pain shoots down my right leg, sourcing at my hip.

"Did they figure out what's wrong with me?" I wheeze

"Yeah actually," Beth wraps her arm around my back to support me. I grip my arm around her back, latching my hand to her opposite shoulder, the steps are small and slow, it takes me a bit to adjust to the pain walking requires, "You broke a couple ribs, badly bruised right hip. You've got several cuts and scrapes on your arms, a pretty nasty cut on your cheek, and there's some neck trauma."

All of which feel explained with the pain I'm feeling. I can see the cuts and such on my arms, my hand goes to my cheek and I feel the bandage cover what must be most of the right side of my face. It also feels like I've got a fat lip.

Beth lowers her voice, "They also found a healed bullet wound on your left shoulder and in the jacket you arrived in, when was that?"

"Back when we lost the prison." I explain, "I was shot in the midst of it all."

Beth's eyes become sad, probably sourcing back to the last time she saw her father, the last time she saw her sister. She bites the inside of her cheek and nods, trying to block out the memories, "Makes sense."

We turn a corner and head down the corridor a little farther. We come to a swinging door which Beth pushes open. I've become a little more stable on my feet, I don't lean as heavily on Beth, and I'm confident that I can shower by myself. We walk into a locker room style set up. There's lockers up towards the front of the room, by the doors, and the sounds of a shower running bounce off the concrete walls. My skin itches with the desire to be cleaned. I can't imagine what my hair looks like.

Beth walks to one of the lockers which is filled to nearly the top with freshly folded scrubs. She takes out one and hands it to me. I walk mostly on my own back to the showering area, with Beth by my side to steady me if I stumbled. The showers are composed of tile stalls. Once you push past a curtain you walk into a small area has a hook for a towel and a small wooden bench to place your clothes. Just a little further is the actual shower.

Beth unhooks my IV, pulling out the needle, then she looks me up and down, "You think you can do this?"

I grit my teeth, my pride nagging at me,_ I can do this, I can do this_, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

Beth juts her thumb over her shoulder, "Alright, I'll just be outside in the locker rooms, call if you need me."

Beth's a sweet soul, her compassion is touching. But honestly, doesn't she have better things to do than to make sure I don't slip in the shower?

I decide I'll take her presence as a gift. I've found her, she's alive... now if everyone else could rescue us, including Carol- who I still have yet to see- then we'd be set. Our family whole again.

I slip out of the hospital gown and socks, then remove my worn undergarments. I notice my side is wrapped in white bandaging, my right hip is purple and green with yellow blobs. I turn on the shower water, and carefully step immediately under its pattering stream. Much to my delight the water does warm some. I try to wash as quickly as my body will let me, every now and again I stop to wince or grit my teeth. Then I carry on until I've scrubbed every ounce of filth from my body. I feel bad for wasting so much water, but then again I don't. For one, the shower felt good. And two, I know I won't be here much longer.

I towel off and get dressed in the fresh, green scrubs. They feel so clean against my body, my skin is returned to its normal pigment, not the one altered by dirt and sweat. It's nice. For once my scalp doesn't itch. To be honest, I'm rather proud of myself for not falling. I grab my dirty laundry and bundle it all up. My wet feet smack against the tile floors as I walk carefully, pushing the curtain and Beth is waiting outside the stall.

"Better?" she gives her polite smile, the one where the corners of her mouth pull up, but her teeth don't show.

"I want to see Carol." I tell her.

She nods, understanding, "Let's just drop this stuff off first, Dawn is real strict about cleanliness around here." Beth shows me to where the dirty laundry is kept, we sort it, and then we go to another hospital room. Most of the lights are out in the hallway, except for the emergency lights, giving this place a disconcerting vibe. Or maybe it's the fact that these people dressed in cop uniforms walk around like those badges pinned to their chests possess more authority than the wrong end of a gun in your face. Either way I stick to Beth like glue, limping along, careful not to move my arms too much.

"Here," she says, stopping in front of one closed door, she opens it, and I see Carol in a bed, resting.

"Is she ok?" I ask Beth

"Yeah," she reassures me, "When she woke up she couldn't go back to sleep last night. She kept questioning the people there. I wish I could've gone in, but I didn't want to give away that I knew who y'all were. But then Dawn figured me out, so I decided to screw it, ya know?"

"Oh." is all I say, still looking at Carol. Her head tilted to the side as she sleeps. She looks the most serene I've ever seen her. I walk into the room and stand by her bedside, wanting to wake her, but at the same time, not. I hear Beth's footsteps pad over to me, her hand resting gently on my shoulder. My stomach lets out an aggressive growl and I realize how monstrously hungry I am.

"You want to get something to eat and then come back for her?" Beth suggests after my stomach's loud interruption. I look at Carol and it's like I'm back in that dream state again. This doesn't feel real. None of this feels right. Beth, showers, food? It just feels like I'm fooling myself into a dreamer's world, not even trying to find my way out.

"Yeah," I agree quietly and Beth takes me to the cafeteria.


	59. Killer

You could blame it on disease, after that's what brought the Turn upon us. Or you could blame the result of the disease, the walkers. But the real killer is people. People kill people, people turn into walkers and kill people. It was never the guns, or the knives or anything else. It was the people that did the killing and still do. The threat is no longer the walkers, you can take those easily. It's the people you have to watch out for.

Beth explained to me how the food service worked at the hospital. Basically, the more you took from the hospital, the more you owed. And after I almost refused to eat entirely, Beth convinced me otherwise. So I ended up with some suspicious meat, and a serving of canned peaches. When I asked Beth what it was that I was eating, she simply shook her head, saying it was better if I just ate it and didn't ask questions.

The meat was tender and different, a little stringy, some of the pieces getting in between my teeth. But the peaches are soft and sweet on my tongue. My stomach demands more food faster than I can feed it. I stand up, deciding I'll do the extra work for seconds. It's completely worth it. I get another serving of the meat and this time grab a couple bags of stale Fritos. I can't remember the last time I ate so much. Beth's eyes grow huge.

"Sam," she hisses, "What are you doing?"

I already have a mouthful of Fritos, "What?" I mumble, crumbs spewing sporadically.

Beth winces and takes a deep breath, "I told you how they feel about food here, they'll work you into the ground for this meal alone."

I shrug, my stomach over powering my brain, "I'm _hungry_."

Beth gives me an annoyed sigh, but rolls her eyes, drinking her water bottle.

I scarf down everything in front of me, even the apple Beth had. And finally my stomach gives in, I let out a sigh. Only upon recollection do I realize this wasn't my finest moment. Beth's mouth is drawn tightly at the corners as she stacks our two trays, setting the plates and silverware on top. She sets them at a window, where another person in scrubs is waiting on the other side to do the dishes.

"Come on," she puts one hand on my back, "We've got laundry to do."

I follow Beth to a room that smells distinctly of bleach and 'Fresh cotton' laundry detergent. There's two more people in scrubs there. A rail thin woman with almond colored skin and kinky curly black hair and a round older man, with a thin comb-over. The man is taking mostly scrubs out of one washer and placing them into a dryer, while the woman scrubs the blood from a patient gown. Beth greets them both and I linger in the background as I listen to their small talk. Mostly how they're running low on detergent and if the cops, who apparently are the one's make the runs around here, don't find some more soon, Dawn is not going to be very happy. The man notices me, and as he's not amongst the laundry crisis conversation he speaks to me, "How are you, young lady?"

"Fine," I politely tell the older gentleman, the manners my mom drilled into me as a child kick in, "And yourself?"

He nods, "Quite well, thank you. The name's Douglas."

I can feel my mom staring down at me now, "Nice to meet you Mr. Douglas, my name is Sam." I fold my hands in front me and my thumbs move around, bored and ready to move on. I don't care for these people.

As if on cue Beth grabs a clean basket of laundry, "Well, we'd better get going, have a nice day Amanda," Beth waves at the woman, balancing the basket on her hip, securing it with her cast covered wrist. I wave goodbye to the man and I release a sigh of relief as the door closes behind us.

"Those people were quite... chatty," I comment as Beth leads me down a hallway to a different room. This one has walls lined with shelves full of scrubs, towels, and patient gowns. There's an ironing board set up, with an iron resting on top, ready to be plugged in, I'm still not quite over the miracle of electricity here. And why of all things would they waste it on _ironing._

"So," Beth sets the basket on the ironing board, "Would you like to fold or iron?"

I hate chores, especially those having to do with clothes, that's one thing I don't miss from the old world, having to fold laundry.

I decide to take the folding, because I never was too good at that ironing business. The work is monotonous and tedious and rather seems to give me a headache.

Shirt, fold in half, fold at the sleeves, fold at the waist.

Pants, fold in half, fold at the knees, fold in half again.

Over and over until the basket is empty. I'm beginning to regret this second bag of Fritos.

_This won't be forever, don't worry_, says the voice in my head.

It feels like we do this for hours before the basket is emptied.

"We should probably go check on Carol," Beth comments and I nod eagerly, ready to get away from this house wife task.

Upon arriving in Carol's room, we found no discernible change. Her chest still rose and fell evenly. Her face was still blank of all pain and worry. It was too peaceful to disturb. Beth was right, it was easier just to let her sleep. The waking world was an abominable place. So Beth and I sat against the wall of the room, facing Carol and made conversation.

I asked her how she was and about her stay here.

"When I woke up, it was so scary. Because the last thing I remember was runnin'. Daryl and I, we were at this funeral home, and all these walkers showed up. He told me to run, and I did. But I shouldn't have. I wish I had stayed and fought them off with him. But... I didn't. And I woke up in the hospital, not even realizing what was going on, or why my wrist was broken or anything."

I lower my voice, "Do you trust these people?"

Beth bites her lip, trying to find a way to say what she had on her mind, "Not really, but I haven't got another choice." her voice just as low.

"But is it ok here?" I ask

She shrugged, "It's somethin', I mean I miss Maggie more than anything. And I just wish I could see Daryl again, ya know? I can make it here, but I'd rather make it with y'all. What I wouldn't give to hold Judy in my arms and sing her to sleep." she enters almost a daydream-like state.

"Daryl and Maggie will be so happy to see you," I tell her finally, "they miss you an awful lot."

Beth gives me a bitter sweet smile, she misses them too, but there's a certain fear in her eyes. The same look Noah had before we ran and I was hit by the car.

Before Beth could reply, the door opened, quickly with no regard to privacy whatsoever, "Beth can I see you alone for a moment." Dawn's body emerged on the other side of the door. Her eyes lingered with hostility on me upon the word '_alone_'.

Beth gave an obedient nod and stood up, flashing me a reassuring look before she left. Once the door shut, I stood up and walked to Carol's bedside, my hand wrapping around hers. The same gesture Beth had inflected upon me when I had been in my coma-like state.

She begins to shift, drifting from her deep sleep. My chunky hair spills over my shoulders as I lean in towards her. Beth had explained to me that they had to cut off chunks of my hair when I arrived. It was tangled in my arms and in general made it difficult to properly assess me.

As I look over Carol's sleeping form, my energy fades. I realize how I could really go for a nap. Whatever medications they put me on to limit my pain are wearing off. With each passing second it hurts more and more to breathe, and standing is slowly becoming unbearable.

Then Carol's eyes open slowly, but they quickly focus once they hit me. A smile forms on her face as she lifts her hand to touch my face, "Sam, you're alive."

To see her awake releases another wave of adrenaline, for a moment, pain stops being the most important thing. I nod, "A little banged up, but it's nothing I can't handle." I promise.

"Good, good, you'll need your strength. We can't have you being weak." The sleep begins to fade and she takes on her sharper qualities.

The door opens behind me, and I take a quick glance over my shoulder, it's just Beth.

But to Carol, it's not _just Beth_. Carol sits up and stares at Beth, "Beth, you're here."

Beth smiles and nods walking over to Carol, "I am, and how are you?"

"Better than I've been." Carol's eyes are practically shining.

"Y'all won't believe what I just heard," Beth lowers her voice, but the smile remains and her eyes glow with joy, "They're coming for us."

Carol's expression twists into disbelief, unsure she heard Beth correctly, "What?"

"Rick, the others," Beth explains, "They're coming for us. We're gonna go home."

Beth gets into the details, explaining how Rick captured 3 cops, and essentially we're part of a hostage exchange. A body for a body. I'm more than willing to accept those terms.

Beth goes to grab our clothes, the ones we arrived in. They're in neat piles, even down to our socks. Carol gets up and Beth offers her a shower. Carol gladly accepts and then Beth takes her to the showers. Carol gets to her feet and moves a lot smoother than I do. Beth takes her pile of clothes, probably to change and shower up as well. Leaving me to my own devices.

I take my folded pile of clothes and I head out the door. Along the way I bump into the person who must be the head doctor here. Most of his hair is on his face in the form of a neatly trimmed beard. He wears glasses with large black frames and he wears a white doctor's coat.

"You must be Sam," the doctor notes, "Good to you up and around, you had us worried."

I frown, "Pardon me?"

"Your chances were looking slim, given you weren't very responsive to our treatments, we even pulled the plug on you." The doctor shrugs.

My face melts to an expression of mortification. _What kind of doctor is this?_ Who _tells_ their patients they 'pulled the plug on them'?

"You really must thank Beth, she's the one that got ahold of the key to the drug locker." the doctor tells me.

My jaw is still agape, "Who the hell do you think you are? Telling me crap like this? Are you trying to boost morale? Because let me tell you good sir, you're not doing a very good job of it." I snap. I storm off in search of my room, well as much storming can be done when you limp. I'm officially done with the people here. They're crazy. Between the OCD clean freak leader, the dress up cops, and terrible doctor, I'm not sure how Beth stood this place for as long as she has. I throw open the I believe to be mine.

I'm relieved to see my Docs sitting at the foot of the bed. The familiar scratches and scuffs are a sight for sore eyes. It's strange to see the clothes that I've been surviving in clean and folded, never mind that fact that they smell like laundry detergent. But my real clothes feel much better against my skin than the foreign scrubs do. I put on my black long sleeve shirt, then my loose wool sweater, and then on top of it, the tan and green flannel shirt. Then I pull on my jeans with a rip at the knee and then I pull on my wool socks over my jeans. I lace up my Docs. Finally it's just my jacket there, in its left pocket, my black beanie. I tug both of those on and I finally feel like me again. Except that I almost cried while putting my jeans on, and lifting my arms over my head to put my tops on was a beating.

I sit on the bed and close my eyes for a moment, completely fatigued.

I don't realize I've fallen asleep until Beth is shaking me awake, telling me it's time for the exchange. Then she asks me if I'd rather walk or be wheeled in a wheelchair. I tell her that I'll walk. I don't think my pride could stand someone pushing me. I do ask her for some more meds though. She nods and leaves, returning a couple minutes later with some pills. I swallow them and she helps me to my feet. My movement is slowly but surely getting better. That doesn't stop Beth from watching over like an over protective mother. In the time span it takes to walk to Carol's room, she asks me three times if I'd rather be wheeled. Every time I deny it. When we arrive, there's a wheelchair for her. Maybe she wasn't getting around as easily as I thought, or maybe it's a strategic move, I'm not sure.

"How are you holding up?" Carol asks me, her eyes scanning up and down for signs of weariness.

"I'm doing just fine," I tell her. I don't need another motherly figure to tell me to sit in a damn wheelchair.

The Grady cops and the awful doctor meet us in Carol's room, Beth pushes Carol and I limp behind her. The cops form a sort of protective circle around us, concealing us from the rest of the world. Of course, Dawn is at the head. On the walk, they all flash us hostile looks, as if it's our fault that their people were dumb enough to get caught.

We walk down a hallway I've never been down, but when we stop, a set of swinging double doors is about 50 feet in front of us. And there we waited.

It isn't about five or ten minutes when I catch Rick's face looking at us through one of the windows of the double doors. Dawn looks at her officers, and nods at them, they all put away their pistols.

"Holster your weapons," Dawn uses her radio to converse with Rick. A moment later they walk through the door. With Rick there's Daryl, Sasha, Tyreese, and to my surprise Noah. Why they'd bring him in here where the people who held him captive for so long are is beyond me. There's also 3 officers they hold in bondage.

They have two escorts that walk over to our side once Rick's group is situated. Beth wheels Carol forward and I limp behind her, the officers parting so our people can see us.

Rick catches Dawn's glare, "They haven't been harmed."

"Where's Lamson?" Asks Dawn, her tone cautious. This isn't just an exchange, this is a chess match between her and Rick. And we're her pawns.

The woman officer in Rick's custody speaks up, "Rotters got him."

"We saw it go down." confirms one of the males, he's got a closely shaved head.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. He was one of the good guys." Her gaze is like a laser as she stares Rick down.

Rick stares right back, his expression a mask of composure. I have a sinking suspicion that this Lamson didn't fall at the grimy hands of some undead freaks.

"One of yours for one of mine." Dawn states, asserting her authority. The order makes it clear who's really in charge here.

"Alright." Rick nods compliantly. He doesn't question the matter, but the way he approves it makes it sound like this is his call and Dawn was merely suggesting an idea.

Daryl releases his man from their bonds and gives him a little push, he steps forward to intercept Carol, "Move."

A different officer pushes Carol to the other side. Daryl pushes Carol back to the other side, where Tyreese helps Carol to her feet. Not a second is wasted, as soon as Daryl and Carol are back to the other side, Rick releases the woman and starts walking her to the middle.

Dawn grabs Beth's arm, beginning to lead her to the middle. Beth turns to me, something has changed. There's a new look of determination. But it worries me, _what is she thinking about?_

Beth meets Rick, he rests a hand on her cheek, to make sure she's ok. He puts an arm on her shoulder, guiding her toward the others. She takes a final look back at us. Daryl tries to keep most of his emotions at bay, but his eyes are dead locked on Beth for a moment. Dawn walks back to this side. She turns around facing Rick and the others again.

It's just me now.

Sasha releases the last officer, I start to walk forward, but Dawn holds me back. Her cold hand grabs my arm, I can feel it seeping through my layers of clothes. Her hand is red and chapped, probably from washing it too much. Her nails are uniformly cut to the pink, "Glad we could work things out." she tilts her head with almost a sick smile and a hint of sadism. My heart thumps nervously in my throat, and I try not to let my fear show. Rick's eyes are dead locked on me, Dawn's voice drops to an eerie whisper, "Now I just need Noah. And then you can leave."

Rick sets his jaw and cocks his head, "That wasn't part of the deal." Still eyeing me, he steps forward again.

"Noah was my ward," Dawn reasons. Her logic doesn't make an awful lot of sense to me. I mean we didn't take Noah, he ran away. Something I wish I could do, "Beth took his place and I'm losing her, so I need him back." She steps forward slowly, dragging me along with her. I try to minimize my limp.

"Ma'am please, it's not-" the woman officer speaks up.

Dawn cuts her off, "Shepherd! My officers put their lives on the line to find him. One of them died." She glares harshly at Rick.

"No, he ain't staying." Daryl pushes Noah back and stands with Rick.

Dawn's lips tighten to a thin line, "You have no claim on him."

"The boy wants to go home, so you have no claim on him." Rick reasons

Dawn yanks me backward, the action makes my ribs ache and my hip throb, "Well, then we don't have a deal."

"The deal was done. Now give me the girl." Rick growls, the thick gravel of his voice getting deeper, taking on an animal like quality.

Beth steps forward, pushing past the others, coming straight at me. She takes my other wrist, her grip is warmer, much gentler, "It's okay." She's still got that look in her eye. _No it's not ok. Not at all._

"No," I shake my head. My heart races and I give her a pleading look.

"No," Rick says behind her. His voice is insistent. Beth has to listen to Rick right?

"I gotta do it." She insists, the seriousness in her eyes is startling. I just want time to stop so I can tell her all the little things she needs that we have and could never get if she sacrificed herself to these people.

"It's not ok." Rick's expression tightens. His tone becoming more serious. I silently beg her to listen to a voice of reason. To think about Maggie and Daryl and Judith and every other person in our group that loves her and wants her back.

Dawn smirks, her fingers uncoil from my wrist, "It's settled." _No it's not!_ I scream in my head, _you can't do this! You can't take Beth back! We made a deal! We made a deal._

Beth releases me too, giving me a reassuring smile, then she turns to the others, "Wait, it's ok." the desperation in Sasha's eyes is painful, even in the lives she didn't touch deeply she's created an impact on all of us. Daryl steps forward, not sure of what to do.

Dawn gives me a slight push, I stumble forward and Rick makes sure I get behind him. I peek my head past Rick's arm and watch in fear. Beth has got to come back, she's the reason we're here in the first place.

Dawn's knowing smirk grows as she eyes Beth like a predator to prey, "I knew you'd be back."

Beth stares coldly at her, not saying anything for a moment, you can see her hatred towards this woman in her blue-gray eyes, "I get it now." Beth says.

I catch the glint of metal in her hand. My gut twists. _No._

It's too late to do anything though as I watch the scene play out right before my eyes.

I see the gray of her sweater sleeve move as a blur. A second later a pair of scissors find themselves impaled into Dawn's chest. There's a look of horror and shock splayed on Dawn's face.

Before anyone can think, Dawn has drawn her gun and a shot rings out deafening me. Then Beth is on the ground. _Why is she on the-_

It all connects a second too late and I let out a scream. I'm trembling all over and next thing I know, another shot rings out, this time from Daryl. And Dawn's dead too.

Blood seeps on the tile floor, Dawn's blood mixes with Beth's. Beth's face almost look peaceful except for the hole in her forehead. Blood still drips fresh down the side of her forehead. The back of her head is a bloody tangled mess with chunks of brain matter matted into her hair.

I can't stop gawking at the horror splayed in front of me while everyone around me prepares for some kind of war.

Shepherd's voice rings over the hasty pulling of gun's a clicking off of safety's, " No! Hold your fire! It's over. It was just about her. Stand down."

I can hear Daryl in front of me, he releases the most heart wrenching sound I've ever heard a midst all this mess. Carol holds my arms keeping me still as my mind continues to try and comprehend what I just witnessed.

And then amongst the crying, and the ringing in my ears, a voice speaks up, "You can stay." offers Shepherd.

The doctor speaks up, "We're surviving here. It's better than out there."

I hope to God that Rick won't take him up on that offer, this place isn't for us. I know he won't, we can't stay here, not after Beth. My eyes find her limp body again. My breath gets thick in my throat and I can't swallow.

Rick shakes his head, "No. And I'm taking anyone back there who wants to leave. If you want to come with us just step forward now." The Grady people stare at us, horrified. Why would they go with us? We just killed their leader? A couple people look like they might actually be considering it, I can see it in the small glances they give back and forth.

Rick turns around to Noah, silently saying the deal stands for him too. Noah nods, tears streak down his face, he's as mortified as I am. His eyes are glassy with tears, they can't remove themselves from Beth, there's an unmistakable look of guilt, like he should've been the one to come forward, like if he had just done what Dawn said, none of this would've happened. That we would've all walked away in tact.

I bring one hand to my cheek, and it leaves wet and sticky with tears I hadn't even realized I had shed. My lip stings with the saltiness now, as does the cut on my cheek. I wipe at my eyes, trying to make them go away. I rub at my eyes so hard I see stars, and still my breath heaves shallowly. I can't stop sniffling. The more I try to wipe at the tears, the more I see Beth's fallen image forming in the stars behind my eyes and more tears wet my clenched fists.

In the end, none of the Grady residents step forward, most just leave, letting us collect Beth and get of their establishment. Daryl steps forward, tears dripping through his stubble. He tries to collect himself as he picks up Beth's limp corpse. He holds one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. Her head falls against her chest, and from here it almost looks like she could be asleep. His arms tremble as if she's too much weight. Carol gives my arms a comforting squeeze. And then walks over to Daryl. She obviously hurt too, I can see the pain on her face that she tries to hide. It's like an extra worry line when her forehead creases, as it does now as she puts her thin arms on Daryl, talking too quietly for me to hear. All I see is Daryl trying to squint away tears as he looks down at Beth.

I look over my shoulder to Sasha and Tyreese. Sasha has her hand on her brother's bicep, they both share a look of shock. You can see the tears welling up in Tyreese's eyes as he watches the scene. Sasha looks different somehow. Hardened. She doesn't cry, in fact she looks like she's all cried out. Her mouth is a hard set line, and you can tell she's sad, but it's almost like she knows if she were to start crying she wouldn't be able to handle it. What did I miss while I was gone.

_It just doesn't make sense. It happened so quickly. There was nothing-_

I squeeze my eyes shut,_ she __**can't**__ be dead. No. This was for her. We were gonna save her. She was here, she was alive. And now..._

Blood oozes from the hole in her forehead, dripping onto Daryl's jacket. I let out a whimper._ She didn't deserve this. She was so sweet._

Time moves immeasurably. I stand there, my hands cupping my elbows, knees locked, trying to manage. The others begin to move from their grieving states, we have to go now. It's done.

Rick walks out first, then Daryl with Beth, then Carol, then Noah and Sasha, lastly Tyreese. Finally I tell my legs to move. But my eyes are stuck on the puddles of blood still there. No one came for Dawn, her skin is grey now, her eyes still open. She stares endlessly ahead, but her face is slack. The blood still leaking from her skull. As the berth of the puddle grows larger, I don't move. It reaches my boots and I stand there.

Something snaps inside of me. _Get over yourself! Beth wouldn't want this, go back with the others! They need you._

It's enough to break me from my stupor. I swing around and I walk as fast as I can, trying to catch up with the others, following the noise of their footsteps, and once I'm close enough to Tyreese, I just follow him. I slow down because my hip moans in protest. I wish I grabbed more of those pills.

My eyes follow the large silhouette of Tyreese's body through the mostly dark halls. We walk down flights of stairs and then maze through more hallways. Finally I see the literal light at the end of the tunnel. Blinding sunlight appears ahead, illuminating the area around Tyreese. Beams of fresh sunlight hit me, warming my arms and legs. I duck my head instinctively, the light hurts given my eyes haven't seen real light in a day or so. I shield my eyes and watch the white and black speckled tile at my feet. I step out of the building, my eyes studying the concrete. The air is cold but the sun is warm, and even the reflection of the sun from the concrete makes me squint. I continue to walk ahead, mostly by sound, when suddenly I'm blindsided in a hug more resemblant to a tackle. My head jerks up, frightened and unsure. The sudden sunlight in my eyes literally blinds me. I blink and look down, catching sight of a brown cowboy hat toppling to the ground.

Realization hits me like a welcome breath of fresh air.

_Carl._

I hug him back, the overflow of conflicting emotions battles inside me. The grief of Beth so fresh, but the joy having Carl in my arms is so real. He hugs me so hard it hurts and I can't breathe. But I frankly don't care at the moment. I grab greedy handfuls of his jacket. My eyes find Rick, and I see baby Judith in his arms. My eyes also find a sobbing Maggie on her knees. I shut my eyes, it's hard to enjoy this moment when there's so much pain infecting my heart.

"I'm so glad you're ok." His words are muffled by my jacket, his head buried into my shoulder, his breath tickles my ear. He is so safe and familiar, I can almost forget everything. Almost.

"Carl you're hurting me," I wheeze, finally my ribs win over my heart.

He releases from the hug, but still holds me at an arm's distance by my upper arms. His careful blue eyes look me over, they shine with relief. I'm glad my clothes obscure most of my injuries, or he would probably worry a lot more. But he can still see my inflated lip, and the cut across my cheek, or at least its bandage. His hand grazes my unbandaged cheek, his fingers gentle as the brush over the fat lip. The blue becomes fiery as his gaze shifts to looking me in the eye, "Don't you ever leave me like that. Ever. Do you understand me?" His anger is reasonable, and abundant, but his relief dampens most of said anger, his voice drops to a whisper and goes up an octave, "You have no idea how scared I was."

My heart thumps nervously, guilt rising, "I didn't think all this was gonna happen." I admit.

His eyes soften again, "I know." he exhales an annoyed sigh. He hugs me again, "I'm just glad you're ok- for the most part."

My eyes find Maggie and Daryl again. She's running her fingers through her dead sister's hair, I can hear her sobs from here, "Beth." Is all I say. I know she meant something to

Carl, maybe it's just the bond of camaraderie from knowing each other for so long.

He pulls away again, still holding me by my shoulders. He bites his lip and nods, "Did you see it?" in the corners of his eyes where the tears well, in the crack of his voice I see his pain.

I nod because I can't talk about it, it's too fresh, too numb. I refuse to cry anymore, I don't want Carl to see it.

I hug him this time, and the hard pain in my chest bursts, I can't hold in, I can't stop the tears. I press my face into Carl's shoulder. Behind closed eyelids, her death plays over and over again. I feel the tears wetting Carl's jacket and his hand runs over my hair.

"I'm sorry," I mumble over and over. I'm not even really talking to Carl, I don't know who I'm talking to at all honestly, if it is anyone. Maybe I'm talking to Beth's spirit, maybe she's watching over us right now. If we could hear her, she'd probably tell us not to cry, that it's ok. That she's with her father now, and everyone else this group has ever lost. She believed in that kind of thing I think.

I hug Carl harder, and he kind of rocks us side to side as a nurturing motion. Short sniffling gasps escape my mouth every now and then. It's nasty and ugly and I'm not sure how anyone could ever consider crying to be a beautiful thing. There's snot and spit, and red rimmed eyes stained from tears. There's nothing beautiful about every ounce of you hurting and still not believing everything is real.

We stay like that until Rick says it's not safe here, and then Carl and I walk to a firetruck. I climb in behind him, and I stare at the metal walls, feeling numb inside and out. And I find that, yes people are the killers. But hope, is what kills the survivors that have to manage after the dead have fallen.

Hope is what tells you she's coming home and her family will see her again. And hope is the believe that you will be whole again, that you can be whole. And when all that falls to pieces, hope is what kills you on the inside.


	60. Recover

The hardest thing I've ever had to go through was losing my mother and Noah, my brother Noah. They were really the first deaths I'd ever experienced on such an exponential level. I remember the freshness of their death. The disbelief that I'd never see them again. That my mother would never push the stray hair from my face and give me worldly advice. That I'd never get to flick my little brother on the forehead because he was being annoying for the millionth time. Then came the blame and the anger toward the Governor. At least with them I had a valid source to blame. With my father, it was something entirely different. I knew sort of what to expect this time, when it came to emotions at least. That made it easier in a way. But it was worse because I knew I had no one left, that I was alone, and I was going to be alone forever. But each time, I recovered, it was slow, it was energy draining, but I did it. I pulled through, I recovered, because I had to. For them.

I didn't think it would be like this. I always thought, back before I was hit by that car, that we'd rescue Beth and take her back to the church. That the reunion would be happy. Our family would be whole and we'd be stronger than ever. That's not the case however. The church was lost to walkers. Bob died along with the remaining Terminites. Eugene lied about the cure, which really wasn't that surprising to me. And_ Beth's dead_. I repeat it to myself for what must be the 500th time. It passes my lips mumbled and almost lost to the rumble of the firetruck as we drive down the abandoned highway.

Carl's hand rests on my forearm, "Did you say something?" he asks quietly.

This ride is not a happy one. No one talks much. And even though I cried out my tears a good half hour ago, Maggie still cries behind me. I wouldn't expect anything else. This was the last of her blood. Her family before the turn. I know what it's like. I'm almost tempting to give her an encouraging word, but I'm not even sure she would hear me.

I simply shake my head, though I do take Carl's hand and lace my fingers with his.

We decided the bury Beth just outside the city, along the highway. Wildflowers grew in the grassy median where we stopped. Most of us pile out, Carl opts to stay in the truck with Judith. I offer to stay with him, but he simply shakes his head, saying he'd rather take a moment to himself. That I should get to say goodbye. We all kind of help dig the hole, and then Daryl goes to the back of the truck where he brings out Beth's corpse, wrapped in a tarp. You can still see the red in his eyes from crying. The tears staining his dirty face.

Father Gabriel says a few words and then one by one we all say our goodbyes. We keep them short, as a growing pack of walkers is closing in on us. Once the dirt is finally packed over her body, we leave. Not bothering to take care of the walkers. As the sunlight fades, the question grows of where we're going to stop for the night.

"It's too cold for that baby to spend another night outside." Michonne points out to Rick.

He agrees to this, "Get off the highway, Abraham. We'll find somewhere from here." Abraham turns off at the next exit and we find ourselves in the smallish town of Duluth. Or that's what the signs tell us. We wind our way through the deserted streets, preferably looking for a neighborhood. We spot one before too long, it's a gated community too.

_Rich people._ The thought occurs in my mind. If I learned anything from my days of doing runs long ago at the prison, it was that rich people neighborhoods tended to be a gold mine. 50% of the people in neighborhoods never came home. 25% died before supplies ran too thin. About 15% took off with about half the useful materials, though more often than not they didn't think out the idea of survival very well. The other 10% knew what they were doing, but that's fine. You don't get lucky every time. The firetruck bulldozes the fence as though it's made of toothpicks. We bounce over the gate and continue on. We drive straight, passing winding streets. Ahead of us, in the dimness of dusk I see a walker. It's small, hardly bigger than a child. It's torso is flattened, entrails spread black and thin, rotting with it. The skin gray and peeling. Its legs are gnawed to the bone, as are most of its arms. Only a few strands of muscle remaining. It weakly reaches towards us, the noise compelling it. Its long, stringy black hair clumps around its head. And a moment later I swear I can hear the crunch of its skull as we run over it mercilessly.

We reach a cul-de-sac and we stop for the night. Carl and I are ordered to stay in the truck, while Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, Tyreese and Sasha investigate a house at the top of a hill. The driveway is steep, and isn't wide enough to conceivably park there.

While we wait, we watch over Judith. I think she can sense the generally sour mood of the group, and it's as though she tries to be extra cute for us. As Carl bounces her on his knees, she giggles and smiles extra wide. Her innocent eyes never leaving the strong, loving gaze of her older brother's. Her chubby fingers stretch out towards him, and my heart aches. What I wouldn't give for that kind of naivety.

Carl talks to her in a different voice, a soothing one, where he smiles all the time and he tells her how great she is and how everything is good and great.

In the same soothing voice, he turns to me, to continue the illusion for her, but so he can talk to me, "Once we settle in, I wanna talk to you alone." though he doesn't use the same ups and downs as he does when he talks to Judy, she still coos when he turns back to her.

"Alright," I agree. I can't help but notice the pack at his feet and wonder if anything of mine made it out of the church. I feel like that would be the time to ask.

Rick and his crew come back from the house, giving us the ok. We gather all of our belongings, I pick up the backpack for Carl, and he gives an appreciative nod. We trek up the hill, everyone else behind us. The house is white brick with black shutters, roof and door. My hip throbs, my body needs the medicine that I can't give it. I hold the door open for Carl, but Abraham quickly takes it from me, nodding me to go on in. Though most of the house is in typical apocalypse related disorder, the design of the house and the interior design reveal its wealth from a previous time.

Our muddy boots dirty the hard wooden floors as we walk in. Our steps echo throughout the empty house, announcing our arrival. To my left as we make our way into the foyer is a nicely embossed wooden staircase, leading to another floor. The ceilings are high and there are intricately engraved columns that rise high above our heads. There's a plush rug leading to a short hallway. The walls are a light gold tint. Large mirrors reveal our appearance, and I turn my head when I see mine. Once we pass through the entryway, the short hallway has two doors, one on the right and one on the left. The left is closed, but the right is propped open by a gilded door prop.

After that there's a large living room on our right, and we're standing in a stainless steel and granite filled kitchen. Rich mahogany cabinets possess an allure of unknown riches. It reminds me of a treasure chest from old stories. While Rick and them checked for walkers, it's everyone's job to help clear the house for any possible supplies. And it's my understanding that we didn't make it out of the church with much, so we need every can, every Band-Aid, every diaper we can get our hands on.

You can hear the heavy footsteps as members of our group adventure to scope out the upstairs. I decide to scope out the kitchen, the possibilities too enchanting. I set Carl's bag down in front of the stainless steel refrigerator.

Pictures of people held up by a wide assortment of colorful magnets. There's a picture of a small boy. His cheeks sprayed with freckles, his hair wavy and dirty blonde. The little guy can't be more than 6, his eyes hold so much innocence, it's painful. He wears a clean red shirt, hard to find one of those these days. Next to the child is a young girl, perhaps ten or so, her cheeks full and pink. Her blonde hair pushed back by a headband. She wears a striped blue and gray polo. She bears a strong resemblance to the boy and I wonder if they lived here.

Just to the left of the apparent siblings is another girl, perhaps my age, her hair is almost bleach blonde. Her features don't match the other two, but she might still have a relation to the other two. I'm envious of her state, frozen in time. I guarantee she can't look like that now. I wonder where she is now. If she's still here, how she's still here. There's more pictures, the one's I see the most are of an older couple, but look surprisingly fit. Those two kids can't be the children of the couple, maybe the grandchildren or something, I'm not sure honestly.

I hold my breath and open the fridge door, my eyes scan quickly. The rancid odor of spoiled food assaulting my nose. My eyes flit to the one water bottle on the top shelf, I grab it and slam the door shut. Breath shuddering out from my lungs and new, less poisonous air rattles in. My ribs practically scream at me, I breathe in so deeply. I place the water bottle beside the backpack and I decide to scan other areas of the kitchen for less rotten food. I open a door and find a pantry, it's mostly empty or inedible, but it does hold a few bounties.

There's an unopened box of Frosted Mini Wheats, 3 cans of vegetable soup, a jar of blueberry preserves, 5 various cans of different vegetables, 2 whole jars of peanut butter, 10 packages of ramen, a 10 pound bag of rice, a 5 pound bag of beans, and a still sealed jar of pickles. I stockpile everything on the large, granite top island. Overhead hangs various kitchen tools, from whisks to tongs. There's a knife sharpener next to a grill brush. I take it off its hook. The weapon is thick, but blunt, as well as useful. I slide it through one of my belt loops, but under my belt. I've found my new substitute for my old knife.

I continue to raid some cabinets above an area that L's out to a counter top serving area.

I find glasses and bowls and plates, nothing of much use to us. I raid lower cabinets beside the dishwasher and I find 3 boxes of Oreos, a bottle of Liquor, and a fancy tin of shortbread cookies. I guess I know where they kept all the good stuff. I set the liquor off from everything else and then I walk into the living room, where Carl is trying to set up an arrangement for Judith to sleep in. Judith sits on a blanket to the left of a plush leather couch. She grips her small feet with her chubby fingers and cranes her neck up at me. She lets out a gurgling noise, and her sticky fingers reach up towards me. Her eyes are dependently staring up at me. Helpless to her innocent looks, I bend down and pick the baby up. This makes Judith smile, which in turn makes me smile.

"How's it coming?" I ask Carl, wrapping one arm around Judith's back, the other under her butt, still keeping her propped against my side, the good one.

He looks up at me, noticing his sister, and an uncontrollable smile cracks through, "Just fine, she's ok, right?" he nods toward his baby sister, his concern resonant in his eyes.

"She's doing great," I bounce her up and down, it makes her laugh, but the action hurts me. I try to block out that part.

I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, a few moments later Michonne emerges with a storage bin, "Thought this might make a decent crib." Carl gets up and takes the bin, thanking her. He quickly lines the sides and the bottom with pillows, to cushion the space, then he drapes a blanket over all of it. He gently takes Judy from me and sets her down in the makeshift crib, she fits well enough. It'll have to do. He picks her back up, once he confirms the size. He speaks softly to her and she coos, he smiles, and my tight mouth from the pain eases some.

Carl turns to me, "I'm gonna go help clean out the rest of the house. Do you think you could stay down here and watch Judith?" his eyes are timid, he knows I'm not gonna like it. But there's trust there too. I bite my lip, Judy's head turned towards me as she sucks her fingers.

"Carl, I want to help," I point out.

"You would be, but you were hit by a car just over 24 hours ago. You need to rest anyways, please." he pushes. I get his point, I do. But I don't want to feel weak, like I'm a burden to the group. And I really don't want to be the next Beth, I'm not good with children like she was. I'm meant to fight and help the group through doing runs. That's what I'm best at, not babysitting.

The look on Carl's face makes my gut twist._ Just this once._

"Ok," I take Judith from Carl, "C'mere Judy. How are you pretty girl?" I make my voice go higher and gentler.

Carl rests a hand on my upper arm, "Thank you, I'll be back soon."

I sit on the couch because my hip can hardly tolerate my own weight. I rest Judith on my knees in front of me. Her socked feet stretched towards me. She really doesn't know any of what's going on. She can't understand that the person that used to care for her in the prison is gone forever. My heart feels like it's ripped from me again. I bite my lip and look at Judy again. Who's still smiling, so I smile too. Not because I have to, but because she makes me feel like I want to. I tickle her stomach and her tiny fingers latch around one of mine and she giggles, waving it around.

"What have you got there, sweet girl, huh?" I tease. She giggles some more like she's the cleverest little girl there ever was.

"Can you say Sam? Sa-m, Sam." I ask, half-jokingly, I'm really not sure if she's ever talked.

"Sa-" she responds rather quickly. My eyes grow wide. She gurgles at my reaction, "Sa, Sa." she repeats, swinging my finger around.

_Well now that we've started..._ "Sa-m." I overly enunciate the 'm'.

"Mmmmm," she repeats, her wide eyes looking expectantly at me.

I nod, "Good girl, Sa-mm," I encourage her.

"Sa mm," she repeats, with space between the 'a' and the 'm'.

"Good Judy, good girl," I beam at her, the gears in my brain start turning, "How about Da-ddy?"

"Da," she starts, "Da da."

I nod encouragingly, "Good girl, Da- ddy." I push for the second syllable.

"Dada." she stays content with that, "Dada dada dada dada." she claps her little hands together. She continues to ramble it on and on.

She points at me, "Dada?"

"No," I smile, shaking my head, then I point at myself, "Sam."

She cocks her head at me, "Sa mm?"

I nod, I take her small hand and point it at me, repeating myself, "Sam."

She points by herself and then she giggles, "Sa mm!" she kicks her small legs and bounces excitedly. Then she begins to babble nonsense and I nod like I understand and there's this permanent smile etched on my face, because she just looks so happy. Eventually Carl and the others do come back to the living room, I'd have called for them to see Judith talk, but it felt silly to call for them when there wasn't any danger.

Carl sits beside me, "Well, did you two have fun?" he tickles his sister's stomach, she starts into a giggling fit.

Then she points to me, and through her giggling she cries, "Sa mm!"

Carl's expression sharpens as he does a double take, he looks from me to her to back at me.

"Did she just-"

"Sa mm!" she giggles again, I think she just likes the reactions.

Carl's jaw goes slightly agape, "Judy, can you say Carl?" he tries to contain his excitement, but he doesn't try very hard.

"Arl," she beams, and Carl squeezes my hand.

"Dad!" he calls to Rick who's in the kitchen with Abraham, Michonne, Daryl, and Noah. They're examining a map under the light of a flashlight. Daylight is nearly gone. Maggie seemed to find some candles though, and she's lighting them now, placing them around the room.

Rick's head bolts up at the sound of his son calling for him.

"Dad come here," Carl waves at his father.

Rick walks over, "What is it Carl?"

I turn Judith and I point up at Rick, showing her, "Daddy,"

She gives her father a wide smile and points her chubby little arm, "Dada?"

"Yes, dada." Rick replies immediately, the first smile I've seen from Rick in a while appears on his face. He bends down and reaches for his little girl. I gladly hand her over and she repeats herself as Rick fawns over her. He stands up and takes her to the others.

Carl turns to me and his hand reaches up and holds my cheek, his thumb brushing against my cheekbone, "Thank you."

I shrug, "Don't thank me, thank your genius sister, picking up on words so quickly."

He rolls his eyes, "You know what I mean."

"We've all got jobs to do." I have to force words out as I realize what I'm saying.

Carl looks at me for a while, and then he blinks and stands up, "Come on," he grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my eyes flashing to the adults, who aren't paying any mind to us.

"Just upstairs," he promises. So I let him lead me. We walk up the stairs and we sit down, just at the top, leaning our backs against the wall facing the staircase.

I look to him, "So now what?"

He bites his lip, he stares at his mismatched shoes in front of him, considering if he really wants to say whatever it is that's on his mind, "I knew Beth for a long time, not before the Turn, but almost from the start. It was when I was shot and we went to Hershel's farm. I don't need to go into that though, you already know that story." he shakes his head, then he grabs my hand nervously, I look at him with concern, I rub my thumb in the space between his thumb and index finger, "So I woke up after that, and of course all I was worried about was Sophia. But- and it was so dumb, I blame my ridiculous 12 year old brain- Beth brought me, I think it was breakfast, and that was the first time I saw her. I thought she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. And it didn't matter because she was a good 3 or 4 years older than me, but from that moment on I kind of... um..."

"Had a crush?" I laugh, I poke his side, "Little Carl had a crush." the teasing helps lighten the mood, but our hearts are still heavy with grief.

Even in the dim light I can see his whole face flush red, and he nods. He runs his tongue along his top teeth, "Yeah. Kinda."

I roll my eyes at him, nudging him with my elbow, he looks like he might be holding back something, "Come on, what is it?"

He presses his lips tightly together, shaking his head, "Nothing."

I give him a look, pushing him to answer without even saying anything.

He shakes his head, with a tiny smirk on his face, "I'm not telling you."

I poke him, "You're the one who pulled me up here, sheriff, now finish the damn story."

"You're just gonna laugh and make fun of me some more." he rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes I will." I shrug, chuckling a little, "But I think we could all use a good laugh right about now, don't you think?"

He looks down for a bit, and gives a resigned sigh, "When we lost the farm, we traveled around for almost 8 months before we found the prison. And Beth and I were actually friends at that point, since we were the only kids similar enough in age. And so when we did find the prison and clear it out and all we were finding out cells for that first night actually in the building. Beth had found her cell, and uh, I kinda tried to share a cell with her..."

"Carl- I don't know your middle name- Grimes!" I laugh, "You little casanova!"

"I was like 13 ok?" he's laughing now too, "Trust me, it didn't fly with Hershel, he made sure I was on the other side of the cell block from her."

I'm laughing and shaking my head at him.

"I told you it was dumb." he points out.

I shrug neutrally, "Why are you telling me this anyway?"

"I guess I just thought you should know. I mean, it's a funny story and all. But she still meant a lot to me, she was my only friend for a long time." and there sets the heavy veil of grief again. I grit my teeth, and rest my head on Carl's shoulder. He gently rests his head on top of mine.

"I'm sorry." I mumble

"For what?" his voice is quiet too. You can hear everyone downstairs, they aren't particularly loud either. They're just there.

"Everything I guess," my eyes stare at the banister, the dark, shiny wood reflects some of the light from downstairs. My fingers curl into the thick carpet.

"You didn't know." He says weakly, like he's reminding himself.

I bite down on the tip of tongue, my gut twisting, "You're still mad, aren't you?" He lifts his head and turns away.

"I'm not mad," he shakes his head, "If you had just stayed-" his voice hardly audible.

"But I didn't Carl. And I know I screwed up. I've done that a lot lately and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I went after what I cared about. Is that so bad?" I snap, gritting my teeth.

Carl lets out an irritated huff, "No, it's not. I'm just scared you're going to disappear one time and you won't come back." He tries to stay angry, but his voice cracks.

My heart thumps in my chest, the pulse slowing, becoming less violent as my temper mellows, "That's the problem isn't it? Never really knowing? Life's funny like that." A sick, convoluted laugh slips past my lips and makes my mouth taste like iron, "Here today, gone tomorrow? That's just how it is." My hands are trembling, I think my whole body is, what with the nervous energy pumping through my bloodstream like adrenaline, "You_ know_ I can take care of myself. And if life's a little scary sometimes_ that just means you're living_. I don't want to accept it, but I have to. I'm sorry I went after Carol that night, but from the sound of it, I was safer in that car than at the church. If you haven't noticed, the dead are walking, Carl. As much as I'd like to be safe all the time, I can't. You can't. Your dad can't. Judy can't. That's just not the world. That wasn't even the world before." My frantic state slips away, and the calm takes over again, the sense of reason, the rationality, "You can't guarantee safety. That's just not how it works."

Carl looks at me and draws his lips to a thin line, his eyes are soft and he's really not angry or appalled. He actually looks a tad amused. That makes my blood boil a little bit, I'm trying to make a serious point, and there he goes, the tight lips crack into a smirk sliding up one side of his face. My placid face transforms, my eyes narrow with the hint of annoyance, my brow wrinkles, and my jaw sets. This only makes the smirk spread to his eyes, the corners crinkling up like they used to.

"You think I'm crazy," I think about my hand tremors and insane laughter.

He shakes his head, his bemused smirk remaining, "I get it, I swear. I just forget how..." he searches for the word, his eyes flitting across my face, "thoughtful you can be sometimes. You know, you'd think the survival instinct would block out stuff like that. Yet you still have this monologue on the sincere lack of safety we will always maintain." He shrugs, knowing how weak his excuse is. He probably just thinks me being frazzled is amusing.

I frown at him, rolling my eyes, "I'm serious." I protest.

He kisses my forehead, "I know. And I accept your apology by the way." He refers to my 'sorry's'. I halfheartedly scowl at him, the look in his eyes makes me remember before Terminus, and I feel better. The weight of the guilt and air of depression lifts a little from my heart.

I lay my head back on his shoulder and his head rests against mine and it feels right. Neither of us says anything for a long time. The dull roar of the stirring and quiet voices makes the silence not silent.

"Where do you think we'll go next?" I ask because it's inevitable.

Carl doesn't reply right away, "Richmond." He says at last.

"Virginia?" I ask, almost in disbelief

I feel Carl nod, so I press on, "Why there?"

"Noah explained it to me," he plays with my fingers on the hand that's still interlocked with his, "That's where he came from, his family is still there in a community. It's our next best shot."

My gut doesn't like those words. 'Next best shot' implies I have to put my hope and faith in something, to believe it'll actually be different.

I don't reply, I can't.

"Do you think it'll be what we're looking for?" Carl asks at last, he asks so quietly I almost can't hear him over the adults talking downstairs.

"No," I say after much deliberation, "I don't think it will be."

"Why not?" Carl lifts his head and looks at me, I don't look back. I can feel the weight again, my empty hand rakes into the carpet.

"Because the last two times I put any kind of hope in something, it almost- or did, hurt me and the people I love. First Terminus, then Beth. I see little Judy, and I want to hope for her. But I'm honestly afraid Carl, I'm afraid to put any hope in anything. Because I don't want to lose it." My voice trails off with my relentless murmuring.

"If you don't have hope," Carl starts and already I know where this is going and I can hardly bear to listen to it anymore, "then what's the point of living?"

I don't know the answer, I feel cold in my bones and it's not because of the temperature, I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, when I open them again, I've pushed down my emotions and I start to stand up. I gather my feet under me and I help pull Carl up, "We should probably head back downstairs, they're bound to notice we're gone at some point."

I know this is only the beginning, that this pain and grief I feel. It will never go away, it never really does. You just have to make do. You just have to recover.


	61. Leave It All Behind

When it all happened, I was at school. They sent us home early that day, I remember it well. They just thought it was a disease at that time, like AIDS or Ebola. A disease that could be maintained, not one that... consumed. I had been given a flip phone earlier that year since I started middle school and that meant I was a big kid now. I remember seeing my dad calling me, and the tone in his voice... it was like nothing I'd heard before then. He urgently demanded I get home as fast as I could, to lock all the doors and windows, to empty my school backpack and to pack it with clothes and food, then to hide in my closet and not to come out until he got me. This was extremely confusing for me, but with a tone like that, you just don't argue. So I ran home that day, the air was cold and hard to breathe, but I didn't stop, not until I slammed the front door behind me. And then I did everything he told me to. I shook in my closet, holding my backpack to my chest, until I heard my dad's voice as he knocked on the door. I jumped up and opened the door, slinging the backpack on my back and I hugged him. He hugged me back for a moment, but then told me we had to go, that it wasn't safe here and that Mom and Noah were already in the truck and we had to leave_ now_. I let go and we left the house. I threw open the back door into our Ford F-150 and my dad slammed it behind me once I got in. Then we floored it and we were gone. We left it all behind just like that. No second thoughts, no questions asked.

Downstairs, the tone is different, the candle light casts shadows on everyone's face as final plans are made and people start to get the evening's meal ready. Most everyone crowds around the counter, Sasha, Noah, and Tara sit at the bar stools, while Rick stands at the end of the counter with a sleepy Judy propped against his hip. Michonne stands next to Rick, but slightly separated from the rest of the group. Daryl sits on the counter top beside the sink, watching over everything, grief still heavy in his expression. Tyreese and Carol stand behind the people at the stools, while Rosita leans against the counter top facing the people on the stools, with Abraham behind her. Only four figures, besides Carl and me are missing from this huddle. Maggie sits in an overstuffed recliner roughly 7 feet from the rest of the group, and Glenn stands behind her, listening but also being there for his wife. Eugene sits off in the corner, playing with some wire and pennies or something like that. Father Gabriel is nowhere to be seen. Carl walks toward his dad to collect his sleepy sister from his father. Her small mouth parts in a yawn much too big for her jaws to extend as Carl gently takes her. Her head bumps against his chest as she sucks on her fingers, her blinks getting slower and slower.

Carl walks back to me, looking down at Judith in her sleepy state, "Has she eaten?" I ask him.

He shakes his head, and walks over to where I put his bag, "Can you unzip the big pocket, please?"

I pick up the bag, and my hip protests the entire time, "Let's go sit down," I nod towards the living room, and I try not to limp over to the smaller couch. I sit down and start going through the bag. It's filled with diapers, some jars of baby food, a few clothes, a stuffed animal, her pacifier, an empty bottle, a not quite can of baby formula and a somewhat crushed bag of stale cheerios.

"Can you hold her while I fill up the bottle?" he hands her over and takes the bottle and formula to mix in. Her head nuzzles against my chest and she continues to suck on her fingers, her drowsy feet droop and she whimpers a little. Somewhat discontent with her brother leaving her. I stroke her soft hair with one hand and support her body with the other. I softly rock side to side and her breathing deepens but never evens quite out. Carl comes back with a half full bottle of freshly mixed formula, he picks the jar of peas out from the baby food and pulls a spoon out from her pocket, "I got her." he takes her from me, and she squirms back to consciousness from her brief doze. Carl holds up the bottle for her to drink and her greedy fingers take hold and she slurps at the bottle. Her eyes are much more alert now. Once the formula is gone Carl feeds her a few bites of peas, trying to save what little baby food we have. She calms down again and falls asleep in Carl's arms, then he sets her in the makeshift crib, covering her with another blanket.

"So that's what you got out with?" I ask

He nods, "I've been collecting this stuff since we found her again, some Carol already had. I knew if I could only grab one bag when we were in a rush, I wanted it to be the one with her stuff because it's so much harder to find baby stuff out here." he looks back at his sister, he gnaws on his lower lip, he turns back to me, "Check the bottom of the bag."

My brow creases with confusion, I go through the bag again, and at the bottom, my fingers find the familiar texture of paper. Instantly I wrap my fingers around the object, only for my knuckles to bump against another one. I pull them both out and I almost start crying with astonishment.

I'm on my feet faster than I can think and my arms are wrapped around Carl's neck. They made it from the prison and now they're here. Peter Pan and Little House on the Prairie. To most, they mean nothing, but to me- to us, they're everything.

"I had to," he shrugs innocently, "they mean as much to me as Judy's stuff does." I pull away and kiss him quickly.

"God I love you," I say with a permanent grin on my face. He kisses me back, and I really hope no one is paying attention to us right now.

Everything is happening so fast I hardly know what to do with myself. It wasn't 12 hours ago I was with Beth doing laundry in the hospital, now I'm in a strange house kissing Carl, seriously aware of the fact that Beth's mourning sister is just across the room.

I pull back again, the feeling of being watched growing to the point of discomfort, "We should probably find something to eat." I gently remind him.

"Well, if I brought those, then I expect you to read to me," he teases. I smile despite the idea of people who are almost strangers to me hearing me talking- not to mention reading one of the two books I hold closest to my heart.

"Fine," I roll my eyes, as though it would actually take effort to persuade me to read.

We each eat a dry bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats, and sip from the same water bottle, making an effort to conserve resources. There isn't much room in this world for a select taste in this world. You can't be a vegetarian, or a germaphobe, even allergies are kind of a difficult thing to keep up with. If you're hungry, and there's food, you eat it, or you starve. I'm lucky I'm only allergic to bees. The dry crunch of the stale, hard wheat isn't exactly appealing, but I swallow it down anyway. Telling my body it's the calories I need, not want. When I'm finished I place the bowl and the spoon back on the counter, Carl has already finished, and his eyes follow my actions with wide, eager eyes. I guess the boy wants to be read to.

I walk to where most of the group is huddling, "So, what's tonight's plan?" referring to the sleeping arrangements of all of us.

"Maggie and Glenn are going to take the master upstairs, Sasha and Tyreese are taking one of the other bedrooms, Rosita and Abraham will be in another. There's a den area upstairs with a couple of couches, Father Gabriel and Eugene should find that to be comfortable. Tara, Daryl, Michonne, and I will stay down here, we'll take guard shifts throughout the night. There's a bedroom in the basement that Noah, Carl, and you should be able to share."

Noah cuts in, "If you don't mind, I'll stay up here." I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean, but I don't know how I feel about the look he's giving Carl and I. We're not- it's not like that at all. I grit my teeth, even though I don't mind the idea of sleeping in a bed.

Carl shrugs impartially, "Do you want us to take Judy?" his eyes flicker over to where his baby sister sleeps peacefully in her makeshift crib.

Rick nods, "That'll be fine. Now go on and head down there, you kids need sleep, we've got a long day ahead of us."

I turn too quickly and my injuries quickly remind me of what I really need, so I turn back with more care, "Michonne can I talk to you?" she's the one who took care of me when I was shot. She pulls away from the rest of the group, towards the back corner of the kitchen while Carl goes over to his sister.

"Did y'all find any kind of pain medication when you cleared the house?" I hope she can't see how desperately I need relief.

She nods, "Do you want me to change your bandages on your side, and maybe clean up your face and arms?" her eyes scanning across my various scratches and bruises.

I nod short and rapidly, mostly just looking to stop the pain, but I understand that might be a bit much to ask. Really, I'll accept 3 or 4 ibuprofen at this point, I don't need anything fancy.

I follow her into the living room where there is bag filled with medical supplies. She sits down and starts going through the bag, searching for what she needs. She pulls out cotton pads, bandages, alcohol, and 2 or three different pill bottles. She rubs all my cuts with alcohol and lightly dabs my fat lip. I cringe as it stings against all the cuts. I shed a couple of my layers of shirts and then I push up the sleeves of my black shirt. Michonne cleans those too, my jaw locks and remains that way until she finishes. She applies fresh Band-Aids to the deepest cuts, and a couple of butterfly bandages to the gash across my cheek. I pull up the bottom of my shirt, just revealing the bandaging around my ribs. She uncovers the injury, revealing deep purple-black bruises that bring a sharp pain when I breathe in too deeply and a thick, ugly set of stitches I didn't know was there. She applies a cream to the stitches, probably to fight any chance of infection. Then she pads the area and re-wraps my side. Finally, she looks at the pill bottles under close candle light. After studying the various labels, she settles on one labeled 'oxymorphone'. She tells me I'll have to take it on an around the clock basis, to fight the pain as best I can. I nod, she hands me a water bottle and I swallow down my first dosage. Then I pile all my layers back onto my body. She packs all the medical items back in their bag before standing up, then helping me to my feet.

I walk over to Carl who's cradling his sleeping sister, he nods at the makeshift crib and I pick it up. He stands up and I grab Little House on the Prairie and toss it in the crib before following him. He's got her backpack of stuff on his back and we make the trek downstairs. Rick hands me a flashlight just as Carl takes the first steps down to the basement. I click it on, and it guides us through the darkness. At the bottom of the stairs is what appears to be an exercise room, where all the walls are mirrors, except the one straight ahead, it has a door and we follow it, on the other side is a library and I almost drop the crib when I see how many books line the walls. On the left is another door, opened already, and the beam of the flashlight hits a rich, wooden bed frame. We've made it. I set down the crib at the foot of the bed and Carl tucks Judith in again.

I hold the copy of Little House on the Prairie in one hand, and the flashlight in the other, I rest the book on the bed and then as I bend down to take my shoes off I set the flashlight up on its end so white light still fills the air. I unlace my boots and step out of them and I remove all my top layers but my long sleeve shirt and jeans. I stuff my beanie into my jacket pocket and my fingers find something cold and round, I grab it and examine it with the flashlight's rays, it's the pen I found in the office. I smile a little, I'd almost forgot about this. I stuff it back into the pocket and I pick the flashlight back up and I start to uncover the bed in all its layers. I'm rather unnerved at the fact that the bed is still well made, with its many throw pillows and rich, embroidered gold and maroon duvet. I toss many of the extra pillows to the side, and I pull down the duvet cover to uncover the actual bed set. It smells a little old, but smell comes with the package these days. I throw back the sheets and prop up a pillow for myself. I feel the lavish style of living just by the plush of the mattress, the silk of the sheets. And to think, this was just a guest room. Or maybe a separate living space, I shine the flashlight along the walls, finding that there were two doors, both cracked open, the beam hitting the marble of the bathroom counter-top and the white pureness of an unused closet. Along the left wall is a kitchenette set up and I silently agree with myself that this was meant for long term visitors, which we are not.

"Ready?" Carl throws back his side of the covers and looks expectantly first at me, then the book resting next to my hip. I reestablish my focus and nod. Though the bed is King sized, Carl still scoots all the way to my side, where he rests his head on my shoulder, his brown locks melting with my honey colored ones. I read the words I practically know from memory and he lets out a content sigh. My eyes flicker over to him briefly and my lips turn up into a smile while I continue to recite the opening paragraphs.

We get somewhere in the second chapter when I start to feel my eyelids sagging, but I continue to read until I'm mumbling and then unconscious. I should've realized that pain reliever might have sedative abilities upon the first dosage. I sleep dreamlessly until the sounds of the real world bring me back. I sit up as my eyes adjust to the darkness. The book still in my lap, the flashlight off, Carl, rolled over and asleep on my left. And I hear a soft cry sourcing from the foot of the bed. I stifle a yawn and I reach over shaking Carl's shoulder. He remains unresponsive, even as the cries grow louder and more persistent and even as I start to say his name. Damn him and his heavy sleeping. I don't know how to take care of a baby.

I swing my feet over the side of the bed, I'm relieved to find as I stand up and walk that I'm not immediately greeted with overwhelming pain. So at least the medicine is good for something. I reach over to grab the form of the flashlight and click it on, being careful not to shine it in Judy's eyes. I set the flashlight on its back end again. Then I pick up squirming Judith. She continues to cry and soon my nose figures out why. I feared this much. I hold fidgeting Judy with one arm against my hip and dig through the backpack with the other until I find all the diaper supplies I'll need.

"Ok kid, this is gonna be a new experience for both of us," I mumble halfway under my breath as Judy continues to cry.

I set her gently on her back on the carpeted ground and I push up her dress and pull off her little legging type things. I undo the diaper straps and I get the clean one as ready as I can. There's a small package of wipes someone must have found and I use one now as I wipe her off. I grit my teeth painfully as she continues to cry. I don't want her to cry, crying is the noise that attracts walkers. I wrap up the older diaper and lift up her legs as I slip the new one underneath her. I secure the new straps and I pull her tights back on, and I fix her socks and the dress.

I pick her back up and bounce her soothingly, humming a slow song, trying to get the crying to stop. Soon she's gone down to whimpering and I continue to rock her, finally realizing exactly what song I'm humming. 'The Only Exception' by Paramore. It's been so long, I'm surprised I still remember it.

The squirming settles down until it ceases, and I feel her head nuzzling against my chest. I bite my lip, and I continue to rock and hum until her breathing is even once more. I tuck her into the makeshift crib and I crawl back into bed, almost instantly falling asleep.

I blame circumstance that I've grown to be a light sleeper. Before the Turn, I could sleep straight through thunderstorms while all the other kids were shocked awake and then curled up into balls with the covers drawn tightly about them. Now it's just the slight touch on my arm and I'm awake.

I think it might be morning, it looks a little less dark down here, but I really can't tell for sure. I turn over, and Carl is right next to me, his arm just pulling away, "What time do you think it is?" I mumble, my voice still thick with sleep.

Carl shrugs, rubbing one eye with a balled up fist, while holding up his body with the other forearm. Clumps of dark brown shield his face, even in the faintest of outlines I can make out his sleepy expression and a small grin forms on my face.

"Well then why'd you wake me up?" I ask. I catch the glint of his eyes looking up, then I hear the sound of steps overhead, that could mean so many things.

It answers my question and I throw back the covers and decide I'm going to go find out. I swing my legs over the bed and start making my way to the door, on my way I stop at my jacket and grab the knife sharpener I left last night. It may be blunt but it'll do the trick on walkers or humans.

"Sam," Carl hisses. I hear his footsteps following me. I wave him off.

"Stay with Judy, I'll be right back." I turn my head briefly before walking out of the room.

"Sam." he grabs my wrist and yanks me back. Famous last words must scare him.

"I won't do anything, it's probably nothing. I just want to check." I turn around and look him in the eyes, trying to be convincing.

"Then let me," he takes the knife sharpener, "_Please_."

I scowl at him, taking the cylindrical sharpening rod back, "Both of us."

He grits his teeth, "Fine."

He pushes himself ahead of me as we use the growing light source to trace us back to the staircase. The library is mostly pitch black, except the doorway, it's like a beacon with its halo of faint light. We make it to the exercise room and the mirrors that line the room reflect the light emanating from the open door up to the ground floor. It lets in a wide berth of morning light that makes me blink feverishly trying to adjust to the intensity. We take to the stairs slowly, listening for noises and we hear voices, all familiar, all calm. I release the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding.

He nods at me to go back down the stairs, "There. It was nothing." I get the sinking feeling he's saying this to convince himself.

I nod, "Let's grab Judy and our stuff, they'll probably want us up there soon."

We turn back and make our way back to the room with Judith. I feel for the flashlight and when my fingers wrap around it, I flick it on, giving us actual light to work with. I redress myself, ending with pulling my beanie over my choppy hair. Then I stretch across the bed and grab my book, and then I take the backpack for Carl, stuffing the book at the bottom where it belongs. Carl picks up sleeping Judith, wrapping her in the blankets that made up the crib and kept her warm.

"Leave it," he whispers about the crib, "It's too bulky to take with us."

I nod and I take the lead with the flashlight. As we pass through the library one last time my gut tugs with longing. What I wouldn't give to spend some time going through the pages. Even if I did have that luxury, I couldn't take any with me, I'm lucky as it is that I have what I do. So I give the slightest shake of my head and walk back into the exercise room, clicking off the flashlight as I do. We troop up the stairs and emerge on the ground floor. I blink a couple times to adjust to even more light, and I can tell it's still early. Rick and Michonne stand at the kitchen island, discussing something I can't hear. Daryl sits in the oversized chair, staring at nothing. One hand rests on his crossbow, his closely bit fingernails scratch at the aluminum exterior. Carol is making sure all the food is packed, along with Tara who's organizing the medical supplies. Abraham and Rosita are nowhere to be seen. Eugene is seated between Noah and Father Gabriel on one of the couches. Eugene is messing with the same thing he was last night. While Father Gabriel looks at Eugene unsure, Noah looks on with intrigue, trying to piece together the puzzle.

I hear steps coming down the staircase and it's Maggie and Glenn who appear a few moments later. Maggie looking as solemn and grief-stricken as ever. She has dark circles surrounding her green eyes. Her posture sags forward, and I doubt she got much sleep last night. Glenn keeps a hand on her waist, almost guiding her to be with the rest of the group. Carl and I continue to stand in the doorway once they pass.

Rick walks over to us, taking Judy from Carl. She shifts a little in her sleep and grips Rick's shirt with her small fists as he holds her. He looks at her and a small smirk forms on his face, he strokes her soft hair with his free hands and he gives Carl a thankful nod.

We wait for Abraham and Rosita to come down before we head out. They're down within the hour and that's when Rick announces the plan to all of us. Virginia, he tells us. Just like Carl said we would. It becomes real in my mind, rather than just an idea. It processes all too quickly. We're leaving Georgia. The place where I was born and raised, where my family's bodies reside permanently. And I'm going to_ leave_ it, leave _them_. It's sickening, yet exciting. Exciting in the way of going somewhere you've never been. I've never left the state before, never had a reason to. And now that I'm going to, it causes excitement. I'm going to leave it, leave it all behind.


	62. Brave Face

I was six months older than Dylan Kirkpatrick, but as far as I was concerned, we were best friends from birth. It was typical boy next door stuff, our parents were longtime friends and next door neighbors. Thereby making us friends by designation of parents. We grew up together, my first friend. He was special. He was the one who hid while I seeked. He would bring his cars out to play in the mud and I would dig for worms right next to him, notably to my mother's displeasure. Sometimes, I'd try and show him my favorite books and he'd just scoff and go right back to playing with his Hot Wheels. And then one day, we were in third grade, walking home from a normal day of school. He told me something. He was moving all the way across the country to California. Something about his dad being transferred. He'd be gone within in the month. And my little 9 year old world came crashing down. I got home and after slamming the front door behind me I ran into my room, flinging my blue and purple plaid backpack wayside. I curled up into a ball on my bed and I cried. I cried harder than I ever had before. Yelling at the wall about how unfair this was. Horrible sobs made my chest heave and heave. I cried until it physically hurt my face and my head throbbed with tear induced dehydration. As I continued to lay there, trying to imagine how I was possibly going to make it in this, what seemed like, terrible world without my only friend the sobs would hit me suddenly and harshly and I'd be vaulted into another round of shaky breaths and sticky cheeks. Time passed differently for me then, and I'm pretty sure I just fell asleep at some point, but next thing I knew, there was a knock at my bedroom door. I rolled over and my clock read around 6 pm, and I knew it had to be my mother. She opened the door a second later to see me with my messy hair and rumpled clothing, with the red, tear-stained face. She gave me a sad smile and sat next to me on the bed, pushing back a tangled clump of hair behind my hair and she talked to me in her calm voice. She told me that I shouldn't let Dylan see me act like this, because I would only make him feel worse about moving than he probably already did. She told me I had to put on my brave face and keep my emotions away and try to look on the bright side of things. I remember not liking this idea, but I did anyway, because I wanted Dylan to be happy. He deserved that, he was a good friend. No matter how much I hurt when I helped him pack up those Hot Wheels, I smiled and told him the California mud wouldn't be as fun. And he told me there was a lot of beach there, so he could play in the sand _or _the water. And I just smiled. I never saw him again after he moved. It was hard, but I did what I had to, I put on the brave face.

Nervous sweat clumps my bangs together and sticks to my forehead as I run through the night. This has become a regular thing over the past 2 and a half weeks or so. Really, I'm not sure how long it's been. These days on the road, they all run together. Especially since I can't remember the last time I had a solid night's sleep. Most nights Judy wakes up crying, or we spot a pack of walkers, and then it's up immediately and we run as a pack until Rick or Daryl determines we're far enough to stop again and resettle camp. It hurts my ribs and kills my hip, but we've got the pills and they help. My body has adjusted to the sedative effect and it no longer affects me.

My lungs burn with the cold night air as we jog through the forest. We've been running for at least an hour now, and while my body has built up the endurance for these runs, that doesn't mean I want them to stop as soon as possible. The moonlight reveals Daryl's figure running back to meet with the group from his scouting mission. Soon Rick turns and we follow, we run up a hill and pass the tree line, just ahead is a road and a car.

The firetruck lasted two days after we left the neighborhood, whenever we saw an abandoned car or two, we'd stop and check for gas. If it was there, we'd siphon it and fill up the truck's tank. Eventually, we stopped finding cars, and the truck's tank trickled further and further towards that red line. It went on fumes for about 20 miles before it stopped completely. From there we went on foot for a couple of days. Given that we were in rural Georgia now, houses or any kind of shelter became hard to find. On the fifth day since leaving the neighborhood, we found a minivan and a Toyota Corolla, we piled in where we could and that didn't last us to the sunset of the next day.

Maybe a week after that, we found a van and an SUV, we found those about a hundred miles from Richmond. A big group of us stayed back with the SUV, while Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Glenn, Tyreese, and Noah adventured up to where Noah's camp was supposed to be. Long story short, Noah's people weren't there, from what I've heard, most were killed, including his family. We also lost Tyreese there. It was sad, but at the time, I was running on 72 hours without sleep and the only emotions I could feel were pain, hunger, and cold. So crying on my part was minimal, but it devastated Sasha. I wish I had known Tyreese better, so that losing him, I could feel like I know I should've when he passed. He was a nice guy, no doubt, but maybe he was too nice. The world doesn't seem to like people like that. I know he took care of Judith whenever she was separated from her family. And I know how much he meant to Sasha, that much is heartbreakingly clear. I wish I could've known him better, but he's gone now. Just a brutal reminder about how unexpectedly life can cut off. I think those cars took us maybe another 25 miles before they crapped out. Since then we've been walking.

Whenever we've found cars, with or without gas, it becomes a shelter. If it's a single car, as it is now, then there's not a way for all of us to fit. Generally, we kids, Carl, Judith, Noah and I will get the car and the others will build their camp beside the car. I've tried to give up my spot in the car before, mainly because I feel guilty about the others being out in the wind while I'm at least barricaded from that force.

The wind has been another obstacle in this struggle for survival. The wind hasn't stopped blowing since we left the hospital. It makes every moment unbearably chilling. Even when the sun beats down on our backs we still shiver. It's become a struggle, between the hot sun and the cold air, there's just no winning.

Daryl checks out the car as we stand about 15 feet back. Carl's taken Judith from the carrier on Rick's back. She's fast asleep and swaddled in blankets. Daryl breaks into the car, thankfully without setting any alarms off. I don't think I can run anymore tonight. My hot breath mixes with the cold air forming clouds as my lungs still surge for air making my ribs burn even under medication. He gives us a nod and we move forward. I open the left back door and slide all the way over, Carl sits in the left back seat and Noah opens the front door to the passenger seat and shuts the door behind him.

Carl shuts the door and I hear the adults outside begin to set up camp. Noah's already settling in and before long he's leaning against the window and probably out like a light. I turn to Carl, now that I really look at him, he's probably more towards the middle of the back seat than I originally thought.

"Go on," he whispers, "go ahead and sleep I'll take first watch. The runs really wake me up anyway." which is bullshit, he's as tired as any of us. But I'm too exhausted to begin an argument I don't plan to win.

I scoot over enough to use his shoulder to lean against and I close my eyes. It's not long before I'm out.

The sleep isn't deep enough for dreams, and when I awake from my exhaust induced nap I immediately sense something is not right.

I'm still leaned against Carl, whose muscles are unusually tensed, as if alert. I've woken up with him on watch before, he's never tense.

"Carl," I whisper.

Immediately his head twists towards me, moonlight shining through the window reveals the fear in his eyes.

"What's going on." I say, with no hint of wonder, just the need to know now.

"They're gone," he tells me without an ounce of hesitation. He bites down on the inside of his cheek as he stares at me for my reaction. My instant reaction is to force it all inside. To externally appear stoic, ready to handle the situation calmly. Rather than the calamity that taking place in my mind at this moment. Thoughts wind through my head at supersonic speed. Considering options, recalling previous conversations, the wave of fear preparing to crest and then demolish every sane thought in its path like an apocalyptic tsunami.

"They'll be back," I say with remarkable calm, not even a shred of waver in my tone.

Carl nods, I watch his shoulders relax and the fear begin to fall away in his eyes. He was only so wound up because he was the only one who knew. Understandable. And now that he's passed the message on, his body is on the verge of passing out.

But I'm wide awake, as though the fear induced disease has passed on to me. There's no chance I'll be able to fall back asleep now, "I'll take watch now, you're the one who needs rest." I look him in the eyes with my jaw locked. I reach for sleeping Judith and Carl passes her on. He gives me a final look dead in the eyes, then his mouth stretched to a thin line. He set his hat in the seat next to him and leaned against my shoulder. His weight was comforting somehow as I cradled Judith in my arms. I just studied her for a while, how small and innocent she is. Nothing new, just revisiting the miracle that is applied love. Her strawberry blonde hair silver in the moon's spotlight. I brush a gentle hand over it. I have to believe her father will come back with the rest of them.

_"Remember, if we ain't here when ya wake up, stay put. We will come back."_ Daryl would promise. He would tell me this every time, every time_ except_ tonight. I don't know why me over Carl or Noah, like I'm in charge or something. I would nod to him like I always do,_ "Now get some rest kid, we'll move at dawn."_ and then he'd shut the car door and I'd rest safe knowing the plan, but never needing it.

They'll come back. I promise myself over and over staring out the window into the black night.

The black gradually becomes lighter until I know dawn isn't far. I curse under my breath. They still aren't back. The windows of this car are about to get extremely transparent. We're about to become walker window shopping. I kick the passenger seat in front of me. Noah jolts awake and whirls around with a grunt and his eyes squint at me.

"Wha?" incomplete words fall from his mouth in his sleepy stupor.

"We gotta cover up the windows, quick," I hiss intently at him.

It takes a moment for him to comprehend, but he does nod, pulling off his coat. He opens the car door a little and then closes it on his coat so that it stays up, successfully obscuring the front passenger window. I carefully remove my coat and do the same for my window. With one arm, I move the backpack so that it covers up most of the back window. I then slip off the over-sized flannel shirt and lean across Carl trying to stretch to his window. My ribs burn with an intense passion, but I manage to cover up the window. Noah sheds a tattered Henley and covers up the driver's window. All that's left is the rest of the back window and the entire windshield. Noah digs through his bag recovering a blanket or something like it. He fixes the blanket so that the sun visors hold the blanket up. I wiggle out of my sweater and cover up the rest of the space and we sit in the actual black.

You'd think it'd make you feel safer; knowing that the walkers can't see you, but all it does is increase the dread. The 'what ifs'. What if it's not walkers that come across this car? What if it's people? My stomach drops. We haven't run across any new people since the hospital, and I really don't want to now. I shiver in the seat, making sure I've locked the door. I look over at the other door, it's unlocked. I lean across Carl again pushing down the small piece of the lock that sticks up. When I move back to my original position, Carl's body slumps into my lap. And he's still dead asleep. I snort escapes me and I shake my head. I hold Judith with my right arm and with my left I find myself mindless brushing back Carl's hair. Stroking back the tangled, clumped strands. Always being gentle so not to wake him. It helps, I guess. The act is distracting enough however simple it may be.

SMACK! Something hitting the back of the car sends a jolt through the cab. I feel Judith squirm and my heart stops, my left arm going instantaneously to her. The cry escapes her mouth, and I stop breathing. I rock her, holding her close to my chest, always conscious of the risk of smothering her. I squeeze my eyes shut and continue to rock, trying to sooth and muffle the cries. I long drag assaults my ears. SMACK! It's definitely outside our window now. I'm rigid with fear. It paws at the window. I can hear the moans and I continue to rock Judith, trying not to start crying myself. I feel Carl stir next to me, and I desperately clamp a hand over his mouth. We can't make another sound. He twists up, his eyes wild with confusion and I flick my eyes to window where the walker smacks again. He nods and reaches for Judith. He takes her and whispers in her ear so quietly I can't hear him. I pull out the knife sharpener and grip it firmly. I unlock the door and reach for the door handle. I tense to throw it open when my ears hear a new noise. The sickening SCHLUCK! of a knife finishing off a walker, and then the thump of the corpse hitting the ground.

My heart thumps profusely in my throat. My grip on the knife sharpener intensifies and I let go of the door handle. I grind my teeth hard, nervously. I know it hasn't been but a few seconds, but it feels like a year. The door opens and I see Rick in the faint morning light. I drop the knife sharpener and I'm out of that car in a second. I throw my arms around Rick, relieved that they did come back. He hugs me back for a moment, and then my senses come back and I let go, feeling foolish. I pick up my jacket which fell on the ground when the door was opened. I throw it on because when my senses came back I realized how cold I was. Noah opens the front door after collecting all his belongings and Carl gets out with Judith. Rick takes Judith, who's still crying. At least she's quieter now. Once Carl's out, I duck back into the car to grab my shirt, sweater and the backpack. I get all my layers back in order and I'm ready to move.

We start walking again, the sun to our right mostly. We're just walking, no real place to go. Richmond was a bust. I think that really killed group morale. It hurt me too I guess, only I wasn't expecting to find a safe haven. So when there wasn't one to be found, it didn't gut me quite as deep.

We keep to the road as the sun gets higher. It occurs to me some time a couple miles down the road that wind has stopped blowing. The sun beats down on our backs relentlessly, and though the actual temperature is still typical Georgia winter cold, the air is stale and unpleasant. Sweat builds up on my neck and the strands of hair that stray from my disfigured ponytail stick uncomfortably. A little before the sun is at its peak, we detour into the woods. Out of the sun, we sit down to rest. With a quickly dwindling water supply, we cannot afford to dehydrate ourselves through sweat. We take this time to eat our daily meal. Meal might be a bit of a stretch, considering there are times when all fifteen of us are splitting two cans of food. But it's what we have to do.

We've been trying to wean Judith off her baby food and formula, mixing softer, normal food into her diet. Today's we're eating canned peaches, the last of some saltine crackers, and a can of baked beans. My ration is of beans, and as I eat slowly in minuscule bites, I watch Rick feeding Judith. The poor thing needs more food than we can really spare. Sometimes I'll pass Rick half of my ration for her. Honestly she needs it more than I do. I can't help myself as I do the same today, though my stomach growls in protest; my heart knows what's right. Rick clenches his jaw and accepts my offer, nodding thankfully. He feeds Judy the beans and that seems to make her happy. She mumbles through her mouthfuls of food, mostly baby talk. She doesn't use her real words as much these days, really she's talking less and less. Being out here this long, it's taking a toll on Judy too.

I look around at the ground and the trees and whatnot; I think I do it to watch for walkers, but really I just haven't been terribly observant lately. In the very basin of the tree I'm sitting next to, amongst a tangle of roots I spot some soft ground. If I remember correctly, it rained not too long ago, I reach over and cool mud meets my fingers. I dig my nails in and the sensation is relieving. I can't help myself, I grab a fist full and I smother it on my- what seem like permanently sunburnt arms. It may not be the most cleanly thing in the world, but it's cooling to my arms. I apply a stripe of mud to each of my cheeks which are burnt as well.

I hear a snort to my left and I look to Carl, "Can I help you?" I retort

He narrows his eyes and shakes his head with the slightest smirk, more than I've seen in several days, "What are you doing?"

"It feels good," I defend myself. I scoop some more into my palm and spread it on his arm, "See?" I flick some mud at his face; I feel the corner of my mouth turn up in a smile.

He grabs some of the mud from his arm and flicks it back, "You're ridiculous," he rolls his eyes

"Ridiculous," I point at him, "But not wrong." he gives the slightest nod to acknowledge my point, caving in. That makes me smile bigger. When you're out here as long as we are, the romantic relationship really takes a backseat. It becomes much less physical and traditional ideas of love and more of an 'I will do what it takes to make sure both of us make it through this' concept. A survivalist's love if you will. And it works just fine. But I can't help but enjoy moments like this, when you can almost forget that you're starving and any of us could drop dead at any time from a number of things. When you feel like you don't have to pretend that things are ok, because for that single moment in time they_ are _ok. For a few moments I don't have to put on my brave face.


	63. Protect

It doesn't matter who you are, you protect what you care about. This isn't just a human trait, you see it in animals all the time. It's almost as basic an instinct as survival is. It existed before the Turn and it exists now. It's extremely prevalent now. It's why we don't give in to an every man for himself mentality after almost three weeks of being on the road. Because you can't make it alone, not when you know there are still people you care about out there. You protect them in every way you can, even if it's just little things.

Drained. Distant. Dwindling. I'm only mortal, and that has never been more clear to me than it is now.

We ran out of food two sunrises ago. At least, I think it was two. It was two wasn't it? Or maybe that's when I ran out of medicine to dull the pain. Maybe it was 3 sunrises the last time food touched my mouth. Time is beyond foggy in my mind. I think my subconscious is rejecting time keeping. All it is doing is bearing a constant reminder at how long I've been suffering.

We're walking still. The weather is stale and the sun beats down relentlessly day after day, but once the sun is gone, the thick air remains, but the temperatures drop close to what feels like freezing. It wears on the mind and the soul.

Every day when we stop at noon we scavenge, I've taken to eating the bark of pine trees. It's an acquired taste no doubt, but it beats starving. Daryl hunts a lot, but without much luck, we're lucky for a squirrel or two for everyone. It's hardest for Judith, you can't just give her worms or tree bark. Berries aren't in season right now either. We give her a lot of grass and ground up nuts and such. The situation isn't ideal, but Rick is hell bent to keep his baby girl alive, and if Carl has any kind of food that she can eat, he gives it up to her. He's learned to make it off the pine bark too.

_How long can we go like this?_ It's not the most optimistic idea, but it certainly has become popular whenever words are exchanged within the group. Conversation these days has become minimal, Carl and I have gone days in a row without verbally exchanging communications. It's almost all become body language and nods these days.

I'm losing what makes me human, and really that's killing me faster than the dehydration or the starvation. I don't observe for the sake of observation, I stare blankly ahead until my ears detect a foreign noise and then my head spins in that direction and if it's nothing, I turn back, back to putting one foot in front of the other. I don't get bored, and my mind doesn't think an awful lot, not like it used to at least. It's like my body is running on emergency generators and anything not crucial to my survival is shut off. I can't tell if I'm really healing, or if I've become numb to the pain. The latter is more likely, because I do feel every once in a while, when we've been running for too long, or I actually fall asleep for once and then suddenly jerked awake.

Regardless if a safe haven truly exists, we need one, for however short-lived it may be. I fear what may become of us if we're out like this too much longer. I don't want this to be the life Judith knows. This isn't a life, not really.

Yet we trudge on, though the inevitable looms over us like a storm cloud, ready to pour down and drown us in its cruel red death at any moment. That death lies in the form of a walker herd, about 500 yards back. They've been growing for a while now, they shorten our stops, and drain us of what little energy flows through our dilated veins. Carl pulls a box out of his backpack, and walks ahead to meet Maggie. She's been crying a lot considering we need all the water we can keep in us. I remember finding that box. Carl and I were digging through the trunk of a beat up car, scavenging for water. We opened the box and saw the ballerina, immediately reminding us both of Beth. I'm not sure if the box will raise Maggie's spirits or raze them. He hands her the box, giving a short explanation. She accepts it, opening the box. A sad smile tucks back the corners of her cheeks and she thanks him. He falls back in step with me, and I reach out for his hand. He takes it, intertwining our fingers. He lets out a sigh and I rub my thumb back and forth on the skin between his thumb and index finger. His shoulders relax and we continue on.

Ahead of us is a bridge, the area near the bridge drops down like a cliff to a dry creek bed.

Without words and hardly any kind of physical instruction, the group splits up. Sasha, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, and Abraham stay on the side closest to the oncoming walkers. The rest of us walk to the other side, huddled together.

If we smelled like the walkers, we could honestly pass for them. Not to say we don't smell. We do, we just don't smell dead. But between the matted, tangled hair that hangs down in most of our faces, and the peeling, muddy, sunburnt exposed faces and arms. The ripped and dirtied clothing that we've all worn for the past two weeks. We look like them, it's almost hard to believe we aren't them.

We stare ahead as the herd moves closer to our family. Judith whines in Carl's arms. The poor thing is hungry, I wonder if she'll have memories of this starvation, I worry she'll get used to the constant hunger.

The group is split into 2 groups of 3, Rick, Glenn, and Michonne on one side. Sasha, Maggie, and Abraham on the other. Rick's side inches forward, the herd only a few yards away now. The first walkers diverts toward Rick, he steps back waiting to receive it, stumbling on the unpacked dirt. As the walker lunges, Rick turns out of its path and pushes it off the side, sending it tumbling down to the ground below. The others take this as a cue, one at a time pushing the walkers off the side. Sasha walks up, her turn arriving, she grabs the collar of the walker, and instantly one hand clutches the fabric of Carl's shirt, while the other grips my knife sharpener tightly. Carl's bouncing Judith rhythmically and murmuring in the baby's ear trying to calm her down. She stabs the walker out of anger and it crumbles in her grip. This was not the plan, this was not the plan. Rick turns his head, probably giving a command and all the sudden knives are brought out. The slaughter begins. We're winning, but we're weak and their unconditionally powered by an undying hunger. A walker has its hands on Rick who's trying to rip the blade from a dead walker's skull. Daryl appears from woods, returned from his scouting mission evidently, he yanks the walker away, killing it himself. He pulls Rick back to his feet.

Sasha's still fighting them off, her built up anger being foolishly released, in her mad swinging, she cuts Abraham. Michonne ends up pushing her out of the way before someone else were to get hurt. Once their all dead, I can relax, but even from here I can see the group disapproval of Sasha's outburst.

We regroup and we continue walking, the sun blazing overhead. We don't stop when we normally do, I guess there's some kind of push to get farther after the bridge incident. I wipe fat beads of sweat from my forehead. I've got my jacket tied around my waist and the sleeves of my sweater and long sleeve shirt rolled up to my elbows, exposing the healing scars and fading bruises on my arms. Any ounce of body fat that once made its home on my body has dissolved now. My hip bones pop out awkwardly and my 'skinny' jeans are baggy everywhere. My lips are dry and chapped, I try to moisten them by licking them, but my tongue offers no comfort, it's nearly as dry. This dehydration business is getting bad.

A few hours of baking in the sun and stumbling down the burning asphalt later, I see 3 or 4 cars up ahead. That's a chance, another chance at food and water. A chance that there'll be gasoline in at least one of those cars and we won't have to keep walking, and if not that we'll at least have shelter for the night.

We approach the cars and Daryl takes off, scouting further ahead I suppose. He's been doing that more and more lately, he hasn't been coping with Beth's passing very well and I fear this is a result from it. We examine the cars and the surrounding area for stray walkers. Almost hidden from sight, I see the bony, gray fingers. I hear the faint moan. I pull out my knife sharpener and my fingers grab a fistful of stringy hair. I pull the head up and stab the walker through the eye. Its body goes limp in my grasp and I release it. I try to pull out my knife sharpener and find some difficulty doing that. One quick jerk finally manages to free the sharpener from the bloody matter. It coats the shaft in a sticky, discolored mass with tendrils of muscle and blood clots hanging from it. I grimace and shake some of the mess free, I clean the rest off with a dirty handkerchief I've been using for a couple weeks now. Once we've confirmed the rest of the area is safe, I return the knife sharpener to my belt loop. Now we clear out what we can.

Over the past few weeks Daryl has taught me how to properly break into locked cars without setting off the alarms. I use this skill now while Carl stands behind me holding Judith. He's got a blanket over her head to prevent her skin from burning. Once I manage to get through the lock I unlock the rest of the doors and then I climb into the car. I dig through the cup holders, I open up the console only to find CDs, tissues, spare change and a stress ball. I lean over and pop open the glove compartment, just insurance papers and napkins from various fast food places. I grumble under my breath, frustrated. I check the side pockets on the car. I find a flashlight and a skull cap, it's not food, but it's something. Carl passes me Judith and he checks out the backseat and trunk of the car. She stays unnaturally still, barely moving in my grasp. I run my hand over her head and rock her gently back and forth. It hurts me more than any physical injury to see her this weak.

"We're gonna make it kiddo," I tell her quietly, "We'll make it, you'll see."

Carl walks up and lifts his eyebrows in question.

I shake my head at him like it's nothing and I hand him back his sister.

I don't have to ask if he found anything, it's clear by the wear on his face and empty hands that we've got no real luck. I pocket the flashlight and the skull cap, someone can use it for these cold nights. We head over to a clear patch beneath some trees. I lean against a tree and start to sit down, only it was less sitting down and more my legs giving out from under me. My back scraps against the rough tree bark and my unhealed injuries protest with the startling impact. I stifle a groan and stare endlessly ahead. I sit there, thoughtless, unconscious of the world passing around me for who knows how long.

I'm broken from my thoughts by a firm shove to my shoulder and the calling of my name. I blink and jerk my head in the direction of the voice. It's just Carl, he and his dad are leaned against each other, using the other for support. I lift my eyebrows at him. He offers me a water bottle capful of water. He nods for me to take. That's our last bottle and I doubt anyone found more. We haven't even had luck at finding any streams lately, they've all been dried out. I shake my head at him and nod towards Judy, who's in Rick's arms.

"Not this time," Carl insists, "You need this, she got hers, you take yours."

Reluctantly I take the cap from his dirt covered fingers, I try to pace myself with the sip. But it's only so much and I am incredibly thirsty. I make two sips out of it and as ridiculous as it may sound, it is truly replenishing to my body. It's not much, but I feel more alive.

"Now you take yours," I tell him. His lips become a thin line and he's not pleased. I enforce my words with a look and eventually he caves. He takes his capful and then closes the water bottle, passing it to Michonne. I lose focus again and I don't regain it until I hear the rustling of leaves and then I'm immediately alert and aware to my situation. I swing my head in the direction of the noise and I see Daryl appear. It's only Daryl. I relax my head against the tree.

Next to me, Abraham pulls out a bottle of liquor and takes a sip.

"So all we found is booze?" an unenthusiastic Tara breaks the silence. I don't bother with my flashlight or hat, those can't keep us going.

Rosita speaks up for Abraham, "Yeah."

Tara shakes her head, still looking at the thick man with fiery hair, "It's not gonna help."

Rosita nods sullenly, "He knows that."

"It's gonna make it worse," Tara points out grimly.

"Yes it is," Rosita replies somberly, looking at the man she might consider something resemblant to a boyfriend.

"He's a grown man," Eugene butts in, "And I truly do not know if things can get worse."

"They can," I speak up, seemingly from nowhere. Everyone looks to me a little surprised, truth be told I'm surprised myself.

The leaves rustle once more and a pack of scruffy looking dogs emerge, about three or four. Some of us draw knives and the dogs begin to bark, first one and then the others join in. This only causes more knives to be drawn. Soon the mentality I had immediately spreads across the group and a bullet is fired. Then several more. All from Sasha. My mouth actually waters and Rick stands up. He walks past me and pulls out a large tree branch, he breaks off the extra pieces and then Daryl stands. He has his knife out.

Tonight we dine.

The human side of me feels remorse. But the animal inside me knows that this how we make it another day.

We build a fire and cut the skinned meat into chunks and skewer them on the end of the sticks. We roast the chunks and for the first time in weeks we have a decent meal. I gnaw hungrily on a leg and I bare my teeth as I go in for my next bite. Once I start it's hard to stop, and I'm not the only one who loses themselves in the meal. Carl doesn't look up from his chunk until he's finished, and he finishes even before me. The only one who seems to not be totally lost in the idea of food for once is Noah. He stares longingly out at the abandoned dog collar. I can't look for long because it brings back my human morals and I start to actually think. I need to survive more than I need to feel bad about how I manage that. It's not as though we're eating each other or anything.

Evening sets in and it brings the expected chill with it, I unroll my sleeves and I slip on my jacket. I pull my beanie out from my pocket and slip over my mangled hair. I lean against Carl and I shut my eyes for a moment.

"You can go to sleep," he tells me, his tone quiet over the crackle of the fire.

"I'm fine," I insist though everything inside of me might protest otherwise.

"Let's go get settled in the car, come on." He takes my hand and pulls me up with him. My knees wobble for a moment, but I'm soon steady. Rick hands Carl Judith and he cradles her in his arms. We walk over to the nearest car, and I open the door, he slides in first and then me. I shut the door and then lean against it. Too tired to attempt conversation. I'm out within seconds of shutting my eyes.

I wake a few hours later, I guess I'm so used to the nightly runs it's just become habit. Noah is asleep in the seat in front of me, and Carl in the backseat beside me, holding a peaceful Judith. I look out my window and I can see the outlines of most of our other people in other cars. I relax some. Then I become conscious enough to recognize a weight on me I didn't feel before. I look down and move my fingers to meet a soft material. _Carl's jacket_. A smile unconsciously forms on my face. I look over at Carl, that sweet boy. We protect each other, that's just what we do. Even in the little things.

* * *

**A/N: Today (Friday, May 15th 2015) marks the one year anniversary of my publication (or releasing to the Internet...) of this story! It's been an amazing year and I just want to say thank you! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through everything and for reading my story in the first place. It means the world to me more than y'all will ever know! I will continue writing this story until I catch up with the season 5 finale. From there I'll continue the spinoff, which (friendly reminder) is not part of the canon Sam story line. I'd really appreciate some feedback on this chapter and on the story in general, anything you'd like to see what you like, what your favorite Sam moment is, etc. :) I always loooove y'alls feedback and it really helps me so much. Your opinion does matter to me! **

**Again I'd like to thank everyone that's stuck with me along the way, I don't have to name names you know who you are ;)**

**Thanks for a great year and I hope there will be more in the future!**

**Please Review!**


	64. Water

They say the human body is made up of 60% water. But do you think the same is true when you're severely dehydrated? Does that percentage drop or do you lose the little bits of you as you lose the water. The latter seems ridiculous in theory, but think about it. When you become dehydrated, the human in you starts to fade, you start to worry about how you're going to fix the lack of something entirely necessary to your survival. The worse it gets, the worse you become. You start to lose it. And maybe it's ridiculous and more conceptual than reality, but I just think if you don't maintain the healthy percentage of water, your body starts trying to compensate to restore that crucial imbalance.

We get up the next morning and start up again like we always do. It's the same pattern over and over. You might even consider it tedious if the presence of death didn't laugh over your shoulder constantly. We're halfway through that last bottle of water. Without water we won't make it much longer. First it'll be one of us, then two, then three, the numbers shrinking exponentially. Before we know it we'll be too weak and it'll be the walkers that get whatever's left of us.

I squeeze my nails into my palms trying to exterminate the macabre images boiling in my mind.

Ahead, Glenn is trying to talk to Maggie, but from the looks of it, not much is getting through. After more persistence though, she gives in and takes a drink. She's pretty damn strong, for pushing through this much suffering. It's admirable really, you've got to imagine she wants to give in at some points. That she questions why she should live, what's the point of it when all we do is suffer, do the good things really make the bad things worth it? There hasn't been too much good to account for lately, and a lot of bad to accompany it. We got treat the good things like we treat water, to power us through the drought until we can be happy again. And I'm ready for a rainstorm.

Daryl goes off scouting again, and we continue our way. Abraham's still sucking down that bottle of booze. We're all in bad places, that easy enough to see, but running off and getting wasted aren't ways to fix it. If we're gonna make it, we're only gonna make it together. That's name of the game. Numbers. Power in numbers. That's true for walkers and humans.

_Maybe I'm just delirious. Maybe the lack of water and the overexposure to the sun has cooked my brain. Maybe I'm just a walker. Maybe we're all just walkers, we're just not dead yet. Because that's what this feels like, walking and feeding. That's all we do, that's all we live for anymore. That's all we see. That's all we can see._

_I'm doing it again. _I squeeze my nails into my palms until they nearly bleed. I almost preferred the thoughtless staring into the great beyond.

Speaking of the great beyond, I can see something up ahead. It's hazy in the sun's refraction on the black asphalt. Waves cook up from the ground that I know are just a trick on my eyes. But the object may not be. As we get closer I realize that it's water, in the form of gallons and bottles. The most good and evil image I can imagine right now. Good for the obvious reason. Evil because water isn't just left in the middle of the road arbitrarily.

We get even closer until we're all crowded around the plastic containers, there's another surprise on top of the package which Rick snatches up almost as soon as I read it.

_From A Friend_

If it wasn't clear before now, it is now. We're being followed. This could be an ambush. My fingers slide around the handle of the knife sharpener. Carl shifts Judith over to his non-shooting arm and one arm dangles not quite casually next to his Beretta. I look down thirstily at the water. All I want is to reach down and slurp down a bottle or two of the liquid. But I also know the water is a trap. It could be poisoned or it could trigger the ambush I fear might exist. I have to avert my eyes, the idea of water is just too tempting.

If anything, this incident has woken me up. Every little noise makes me twitch and swing my head around ready to pounce. I look over at Carl and he looks back at me. No words need to be spoken, just the intensity of our expressions, the twitch of an eyeball, the occasional side glance. He doesn't trust this either. I couldn't really convey the idea of ambush, but it's clear both of us think this is no coincidence. That we're in danger, and Carl isn't ready to subject his sister to that. I see it in the nervous twitch of his jaw. The way his fingers brush against the grip of his pistol. How he uses his free arm to press his sister closer to him. His bright blue eyes flit around madly, cautious to anything and everything. I gnaw nervously on the inside of my bottom lip, it's the dread that kills honestly. It wakes you up, but it breaks you down, wears on you.

The leaves rustle behind me and I whirl around, about to rip the knife sharpener from my belt loop. I relax some. It's just Daryl, he doesn't look overly alarmed or anything the rest of us should catch on to. Just the- what's come to be normal- sad look in his eyes. The faint slump of his shoulders. Rick passes the note to Daryl, he immediately looks up and around. His eyes narrow, surveying the area suspiciously.

Rick's attention isn't on us either, he's got hawk eyes on the foliage around us. The greens and browns melting and mixing together. In theory it should be easy to spot the foreign organism, but they could be camouflaged, sitting in wait for hours waiting for some unlucky victim to take the bait. My entire body is trembling with adrenaline, primal instinct ticking away in my mind._ Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight. Flight. Fight. Fight._ I look around at my pack. We will fight. My grip tightens on my weapon and I scope the area as well, my heart pounding in my chest.

I hear words being spoken, but I'm so focused on what's beyond ourselves I don't bother comprehending it. But the longer the conversation goes on, the more my ears decide to work. And by the time I'm actually listening again I hear Eugene saying, "If that's a trap, we already happen to be in it." For once I agree with mullet man, "But I, for one, would like to think it is indeed from a friend." _and I take it back_. He's so dehydrated the poor guy is willing to believe anything.

Carol challenges him, defending my own opinion, "What if it isn't? What if they put something in it?"

Eugene steps forward quickly, perhaps before he can change his mind, he grabs a water bottle and stirs the whole group up in the process. I stare at him, half in horror, half in longing. Even if it kills him, he'll at least have had the pleasure of water in his system one last time.

"Eugene." Rosita speaks up

"What are you doing, dude?" Tara looks at him in disbelief.

"Quality assurance." I hear the crack of a new bottle of water being opened, and my body yearns to lunge forward and grab a bottle myself.

He tilts the bottle back in one fluid motion to take in the water, as the bottle touches his lips, Abraham strikes out and smacks the bottle aggressively from Eugene's hand, spilling the water all over Eugene and the dry asphalt.

For a moment everyone stands frozen. No words are said. No one moves. I can hear Eugene and Abraham's heavy breathing. Most of us just gawk upon the scene with wide, startled eyes. Abraham's stare is harsh and wolf-like as he stares at Eugene. The two have been in something of a rough spot since Eugene confessed to not knowing the cure. It really screwed Abraham up, and Eugene has been ambling along gloomily (as if we actually needed more of that) since he pretty much became useless to us. He doesn't have to reinforce it like he does though.

Then Abraham turns away, not that it eases the knot in my stomach any less. Carol's gaze turns to Rick and Rick is locked onto Abraham, "We can't." he states plainly. Eugene ducks his head in submission, and the tension in the air eases some.

No really, the air has become less thick and I hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. The sky opens up and rain begins to pour. My head tilts to the sky and I open my mouth for raindrops, and uncontrollable laugh bursts from my chest and I close my eyes, the water is cold against my sweaty, dirty face. It's the best thing I've felt in weeks- months perhaps. I stretch out my arms so more of my body's surface area can feel this euphoria. The threat of the mysterious water bottles dissipating almost instantly.

I feel Carl looking over at me, so I look back, he's grinning from ear to ear exposing his teeth. I feel as though a weight on my chest has fallen, and his eyes to appear to have lost 10 years of wear. I lean over and kiss him on the cheek purely on a whim, as I pull away though, his free arm pulls me back and he kisses me full on the mouth and a little bubble of happiness builds up inside my chest. Rain spills overhead and causes my hair to form in clumps over my face. Carl's hand is pressed firmly into my back and I only pull back when I hear Judy whine. She doesn't enjoy the wet quite as much as we do, I believe. Reason enters my thoughts again. _Good to have you back old friend_. She could get sick much easier than us out in this rain, especially with those wet clothes mixing with the notorious cold night.

Carl takes off his hat and covers her up. I notice Rick's set up several water bottles on the ground to catch the rain water. I become slightly angry with myself that I wasted precious time and potentially precious water because I decided to act on foolish, unnecessary emotions. Thunder rumbles more aggressively with increased frequency and Judy's cries become louder.

"We need to keep moving," Rick calls over the next roar of thunder. _But where? Where do we go? _Trees can only give us so much protection from rain, and we need to be somewhere dry.

"There's a barn!" Daryl yells to Rick, the rain coming down now so hard and thick that hearing each other is difficult.

"Where?" Rick yells back. Daryl turns in the direction he arrived in and waves, we all follow him in a hurry. Once we're under tree cover, it's not as bad, but most of these trees have lost their leaves for the winter. We trudge through the quickly thickening mud. The shluck of the boots pulling up from the mud is almost as rhythmic as the drilling rain. I crouch over, using the hood of my jacket, but find it to be rather useless. We're all soaked to the bone at this point. Carl still covers Judith with his hat, clumps of hair dyed almost black from the water fall in his face.

The hike is longer than expected, but the rain probably slowed us down from an expected arrival time. Soon though, among the greens and browns I make out the shape of what must be the barn. It's about what I expected, old and a little rickety. But don't get me wrong, it'll suffice.

The doors to the barn aren't locked, so Carol pushes the door open for Rick to enter first, gun pointed, prepared for any possible threat. Human or otherwise. A group of about five follow Rick. Michonne holds the rest of us back at the door. The rain continues to get heavier and heavier. Judith's whines make my heart ache. _We'll be inside soon honey_. I promise her silently. Carl tries murmuring to her and rocking her, but the claps of lightning supersede any good Carl is doing. I look inside the barn expectantly. _We need the all-clear, come on people_.

The all-clear comes, but not soon enough, we pile into the barn. People split up some, taking corners of the barn to be by themselves. I can't blame them honestly. I sit with a larger group by a fire we built. Most of the wood is too wet to burn for long, but we try. There isn't a meal tonight, we never found any food. Abraham is lost in consuming his bottle of whisky and Sasha keeps on with her pessimistic attitude on life, Maggie's off somewhere, probably asleep already- or at least faking it. Glenn isn't with her though, he's here with us. Us being Carl, Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Carol and I. Judith fell asleep from exhaustion a little bit ago, and I can tell Carl's headed in a similar direction. But I'm not even tired. Maybe it's the storm that continues to rage outside that keeps me awake, or perhaps it's the evergrowing growl in my stomach. It's as though it's trying to compete with the rumbling outside.

Rick and the others keep a quiet conversation going, from what I bother to pick up, it's mostly about where we're going- D.C. even though Eugene didn't know the cure, that doesn't mean there isn't something there- or about the wet branches we're trying to use for kindling. I find myself zoning out a lot, and one time when I come back to reality, I find Carl asleep, slumped against my thigh, still cradling Judy. The corner of my mouth turns up in a smile and my fingers brush through his still damp hair almost instinctively. I look back at the fire and Rick turns back at us, catching my eye. I stop stroking his hair for a moment, embarrassed his dad saw me. We make eye contact, and the fire's light reveals the smallest smile, and he nods at me. I nod back and then he turns back to the others. My fingers stay on his head but I don't run them through his locks. I stare off, pretending not to listen. They talk quietly, but not quiet enough.

Carol speaks up, "They're gonna be okay. They bounce back more than any of us do."

"I used to feel sorry for kids that have to grow up now. In this." Rick comments, "But I think I got it wrong. Growing up is getting used to the world. This is easier for them." He's got a horribly valid point. This is what we know, survival. We'll grow up- if we grow up- knowing how to kill and scavenge, how to pick out the good people from the bad, and that's it. We won't go to college and get business degrees. We'll never learn traffic laws or foreign policies. We'll never travel for fun to foreign countries and be tourists. It's sad but true. But at least we have the memories, however fleeting those are. At least I'll remember what a holiday is and what it means, that's more than what Judith will get. I guess being young and surviving the apocalypse just makes you good at adapting rather than growing up in the traditional sense.

"This isn't the world. This isn't it." Michonne refuses to accept Rick's word.

After a moment of silence, Glenn grimly replies, "It might be. It might."

Michonne argues, "That's giving up." I do admire her for her courage, her belief that it will get better, and I won't lie that it helps me keep going sometimes. But I do accept Glenn's belief that this is the world, there might be a place in the future where things are easier, but I can't believe that things will go back to being the same as they were before the Turn, it just won't happen.

"It's reality." Glenn's tone is resigned.

"Until we see otherwise, this is what we have to live with." Rick says with a tone of finality. The wind whistles by outside, whipping against the sagging wooden walls.

Rick settles into a story, "When I was a kid I asked my grandpa once if he ever killed any Germans in the war. He wouldn't answer. He said that was grown-up stuff, so I asked if the Germans ever tried to kill him. But he got real quiet. He said he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory. Every day he woke up and told himself, "Rest in peace. Now get up and go to war." And then after a few years of pretending he was dead he made it out alive. That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do and then we get to live. But no matter what we find in DC, I know we'll be okay. Because this is how we survive. We tell ourselves that _we are the walking dead_."

Daryl speaks up so quietly I nearly don't hear him, "We ain't them." he re-positions himself and begins snapping sticks into smaller pieces for the fire.

"We're not them. Hey." Rick tries to get Daryl's attention, Daryl peeks out between his clumps of dark brown bangs, "We're not."

Daryl stands up, tossing the smaller sticks into the fire, "We ain't them." then he walks away into a darker part of the barn, taking his crossbow with him. More lightning crackles outside, lighting up the barn through the cracks in the boards. I go back to running my fingers through Carl's hair and I go back to zoning out, not quite awake, but not asleep either.

The fire dims out over the course of a couple hours and eventually Glenn leaves the circle and goes over to sleep beside his wife. He turns off the lantern beside her and it's dark except for the periodic flashes of lightning. Most people are asleep at this point, but I'm still sitting up with Daryl. Neither of us bothers with any kind of communication, but he's on watch and I can't sleep. I offered to take watch, but he just shook his head at me. He's at the front of the barn, near the doors which we've chained together. The chains aren't very tight though, with the strong winds, the doors blow open partially. They close back and open again to the rhythm of the wind. Open, close. Open, close. Its noise is lost in the heavy patter of rain and the constant rage of thunder.

I see Daryl's outline pacing back and forth in front of the entryway, I haven't talked to him really since we lost Beth. I know I should, but I haven't had the energy or the right moment to do so. I know he needs space, that's apparent enough, but I just wish I could talk to him about how brave she was or how strong she had become and how proud of her he should be. I want to talk about the happy things, but I'm worried that would only make him feel sadder. So I just sit beside Carl, occupying my mind with running my fingers through his hair because I find the action relaxing, therapeutic maybe.

Something must catch Daryl's eye because he walks to the door, and looks through the shuttering opening. Suddenly he slams the doors shut, pushing all his body weight against it and begins to try and tighten the chains. I try not to move too abruptly as though not to bother Carl or Judy. I ease Carl's head off my leg and onto the backpack full of Judith's stuff. I stand up and then run over to Daryl. He's standing with his back to the door, pushing back as hard as he can. But something is pushing back, making his effort substantially less impactful than it should've been.

"What's wrong?" I ask though it sounds like a whisper with all the outdoor noise. And then I hear it, the heavy moans of walkers. Amplified by what must be the gargantuan size of a herd. I begin to push against the door as well, but the walkers smell meat and with what I can hear, the two of us and this door don't stand much of a chance. We're struggling against the force of the herd, my boots digging into the dirt floor. I squint my eyes shut and focus all my energy into trying to hold this door back from the walkers.

Then I feel someone beside me, I open my eyes and Maggie is standing to my left. She pushes against the doors with us, still the undying lust for food is stronger than our will to live. The doors push in their favor. My breath comes out in labored puffs as I push as hard as I can. I hear shuffling and then I see Sasha on the other side of Daryl, come to join the fight. It should be easier now that our forces are doubled, but the struggle is about the same and the doors continue to favor the undead.

At this point our struggle is audible in our grunts and the grinding sound of the door's hinges as we will ourselves and our loved ones to live. We alert Rick, Michonne, Glenn, and Carol stirring them from whatever state of unconsciousness they were in. They run over and join us. The force as doubled again and we may be gaining some ground on the dead, but we haven't alleviated the threat yet. Then Rosita, Tara, and Abraham join us, our thoughts the same- survival. Eugene and Father Gabriel dash over to join us, and we start to gain some more. Our boots slipping in the mud, searching for traction.

Finally Carl joins us and I become very aware that Judy is alone, and if we fail to hold these doors back, she may fall victim. I dig in with everything I've got and we try to hold back the undead, my fear now is that the pressure on both sides will make the doors snap entirely. I'm panting heavily trying to hold back these doors as the walkers try to force their way in. The wind whips outside and fights against us, making our fight that much more difficult. My boots slip in the mud and I re-establish my grip, my heels dig in, my back applying all the strength I've got. We push and we hold and the door still flaps, partially due to wind, partially due to the walker's combined strength.

Time stands still and the only thought that pulses through my mind is 'we ain't them.' Maybe that's what gives me the strength to keep pushing even though I should've given up a while ago. Its syllables chant in time to the beat of my weary heart. I grit my teeth as it seems we hold back the world for eternity. We ain't them. We will fight to stay us. We won't give up. We can't give up. We couldn't if we wanted to, that much is clear within our group effort. Water floods in from the outside, reminding us it isn't just the dead we're fighting, but nature itself. The mud absorbs the water and makes traction harder to find. We keep pushing though, because that's what we do, we don't give up.

I don't remember a time when we could stop holding the walkers back, nor do I remember falling asleep. I just remember waking up the next morning when Maggie and Sasha brought in a strange man. He said he was here to help. But I don't believe him. I think he's a trick, just like the water.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Hey everyone! It's finally summer so I'll have more time to write now that school's over. I'll do my best to update more often (probably weekly) but sometimes my beta reader takes a while to read the chapters, so I apologize for any inconvience. As always please review!**


	65. Friend

I didn't have too many friends before the Turn, I was just too quiet and didn't get along well with the other kids. My mom would always tell me 'you can never have too many friends' or that I didn't have to do _everything_ with everyone, as long as I could be friendly to them. I don't think my mother understood exactly how shy and introverted I was, I would take a book over another person any day. But that's because I didn't have to talk to those books, I didn't have to try not to hurt their feelings whenever I observed something that maybe didn't favor them too well. Not to mention all the girls my age were all about drama, and I just didn't care to get caught up in that. Nowadays, well everyone is either a friend or a foe. For your sake, you better hope you're a friend.

I slept later than I should have the morning after the storm, though no one woke me. Maybe it's because I hadn't slept much before the storm, and I was being given a break, whatever the case though, I felt better upon waking up. Early morning sunshine leaked through the beams of wood which composed the walls. I woke up with Carl sitting up beside me, his nimble fingers fiddling with something. My vision, still blurry with sleep can't quite make out the finer details. _Maybe his gun?_

I roll onto my back and Carl looks over me, hair framing his face, "Morning sleepy head," he teases.

I push myself up into a sitting position, my back quickly finding the wall, "Why didn't anyone wake me up?" one quick glance around confirms that I must be the last one awake.

"Daryl said to let you rest. I haven't seen you sleep that deeply in a while though, so he must've had a point," Carl shrugs, he sets down his Beretta and he pushes a matted clump hair from my face. I feel guilty, sleeping in like I did, when Carl's still got dark circles under his eyes that strongly resemble bruises. I take another look around and I can't find Maggie or Sasha anywhere.

The barn door creaks open and Maggie's head appears, "Hey, everyone," she pushes the doors open more and I stretch to see what the big deal is, "This is Aaron." the door swings open, revealing a man with brown hair and a face that displays so much innocence and purity. Similar to what you might see in the face of a child. Pure good. As if they'd never seen or done anything terrible in his whole life. Instantly red flags go off in my head, there's no way he's never done anything bad- not now.

I'm not the only one who sees this, everyone is up on their feet and bearing some kind of weapon. You hear the shifting of guns, safety's being clicked off. Carl stands just a step in front of me, his Beretta in hand.

"We met him outside. He's by himself. We took his weapons and we took his gear." Maggie goes on to explain. Her words intend comfort but my eyes still narrow suspiciously at this man. Daryl takes no chances and pats down this '_Aaron_'.

The barn door closes and the man stares at us wide-eyed, displaying his fear._ What's his game? What is he trying to get at?_ My fingers drum anxiously on the plastic handle of my knife sharpener.

"Hi," he says quietly.

Judith, who's propped against Rick's hip, starts to cry.

_You know they say babies and dogs are the best judges of character._

Rick looks quickly at Carl and Carl gives a nod, holstering his pistol, then takes his baby sister. He tries to quiet her down, his eyes though don't leave the stranger for a second.

Aaron has his hands up in a surrender position as he steps forward, "It's nice to meet you," his last words are drowned out by bullets being loaded into a gun chamber, between Rick's hard stare and the amount of uneasy shifting from the group, Aaron decides to stop moving.

"You said he had a weapon?" Rick comments, Maggie walks forward holding a simple revolver. Rick examines the gun for a bit before stuffing it in the waistband of his dirty jeans. "There's something you need?"

"He has a camp, nearby. He wants us to_ audition_ for membership." Sasha explains, the way she says 'audition' makes my brow furrow.

"I wish there was another word. Audition makes it sound like we're some kind of a dance troupe. That's only on Friday nights." his awkward attempt at humor goes stale among our crowd, no one is amused by his light tone, "Um, and it's not a camp. It's a community. I think you all would make valuable additions. But it's not my call. My job is to convince you all to follow me back home. I know. If I were you, I wouldn't go either. Not until I knew exactly what I was getting into. Sasha, can you hand Rick my pack? Front pocket, there's an envelope. There's no way I could convince you to come with me just by talking about our community. That's why I brought those. I apologize in advance for the picture quality. We just found an old camera store last-"

"Nobody gives a shit," interrupts Daryl. Rick opens the envelope and looks over the grainy pictures.

Aaron turns to Daryl, "You're absolutely 100% right." I can't tell if he's joking or not, but I certainly hope he's not. Rick remains squatting next to Aaron's pack as he examines the first picture which is of walls supported by beams, "That's the first picture I wanted to show you because nothing I say about our community will matter unless you know you'll be safe. If you join us, you will be. Each panel in that wall is a 15-foot-high, 12-foot-wide slab of solid steel framed by cold-rolled steel beams and square tubing. Nothing alive or dead gets through that without our say-so." Aaron explains, he's gives a very compelling speech, but the Governor gave those too, and so did the Terminites. His words are empty to me, "Like I said, security is obviously important. In fact, there's only one resource more critical to our community's survival. The people." Rick stands now, eyeing Aaron, he turns back to Michonne and the exchange a look, "Together we're strong. You can make us even stronger." Rick walks toward Aaron now, I grind my teeth anxiously, mentally preparing in case of an impending shit storm, "The next picture, you'll see inside the gates. Our community was first construc-" Rick drives a blowing punch to Aaron's face. The man crumples to the ground, instantly unconscious. I stare at Rick, wide-eyed- as many of us do. I may be caught off guard but I don't think Rick's move necessarily surprised me per say. You could the tension in his shoulders, the hostility in his expression, he was not pleased with this stranger.

The others step closer to get a better look at Aaron. Carl stays back with his sister and I keep him company, still suspicious of the newcomer. I shift uncomfortably on my feet, and Carl's expression tightens. His eyes seem far off as though seeing something as if he's seen it before and reliving those memories.

Rick starts to walk back in our direction and Michonne meets him halfway, her voice low and firm, "So we're clear, that look wasn't a "let's attack that man" look. It was a "he seems like an okay guy to me" look."

_Michonne thinks he's ok?_ I begin to reconsider my original thoughts, Michonne never takes situations too lightly and isn't easily fooled.

Rick seems to disregard Michonne's words and instead gives the group further instructions, "We got to secure him." he turns to Carl, "Dump his pack. Let's see what this guy really is." Carl follows his dad's directions without protest, although there is some reluctance as he hands me Judith and then bends down and grabs the pack. He walks it over to a different section of the barn and I follow. There's a raised metal table type surface that Carl sets the bag on.

"You can set her down, just help me pick through his stuff," there's a guarded tone in Carl's voice, like he's trying to hide something. I pass it off as me imagining it. I set Judy down beside my feet, where I can still see her and help Carl sort through the objects occupying the bag.

Rick continues to bark commands that begin to sound more and more unhinged by the second.

"Me and Sasha, we didn't see him. If he had wanted to hurt us, he could've." Maggie points out. Again Rick chooses to ignore her words and instructs the group further with a combative mindset.

"Is your dad ok?" I ask quietly. I place an orange revolver looking gun on the table space. Perhaps it's a flare gun? A sinking feeling rises in my stomach. What if Aaron already sent off a flare? He may have been found alone, but that doesn't mean he'll stay that way.

Carl looks at me with a shielded expression and a tight jaw, "He's just concerned for the group's well-being." even his words sound forced. I just nod along and go with the charade.

Rick walks over to us maybe a minute or so later, "What did you find?" Carl picks up the revolver from the other things and hands it to his father. That was really the only thing we found that could truly be marked as suspicious to his stated intentions.

"Never seen a gun like that before," Carl comments. Rick checks the barrel of the gun, nods at his son and then walks away. I cast a glance at Carl and he gives the slightest shake of his head.

I feel Judith's tiny fingers grip my ankle. She looks up at me with her big green eyes. I pick her up and turn around as Rick walks back to Aaron, who Michonne is currently nursing. Carl stuffs the remaining belongings back into Aaron's bag.

Various groans source from Aaron's vicinity signifying that he has awoken, "That's a hell of a right cross there, Rick." he comments. The man has the either the audacity or the ignorance to pop a grin. He's using slight humor to lighten the mood like Father Gabriel did when we met him, it didn't help the priest then and it's not helping Aaron now. We aren't joking people.

"Sit him up." grumbles Rick, staring down at the man he attacked.

Maggie, who's by Aaron's side as well, turns to Rick, "I think it's better if-"

"It's okay." Aaron interrupts her, he lets out another groan.

"He's fine. Sit him up," Rick repeats with no sympathy and a cold tongue. Michonne pulls him up to a sitting position, her body language exposing more empathy than shown previously to the stranger. More grunts are released from Aaron's mouth and he blinks hard trying to grab a firm hold on his surroundings.

"You're being cautious. I completely understand," Aaron tries to reason. His remarkable patience is something of a curiosity to me. Rick knocked him out cold and yet he still remains optimistic towards us.

Rick pays no mind to this man's open-mindedness and instead focuses on the flare gun which is clutched tightly in his right hand, "How many of your people are out there? You have a flare gun. You have it to signal your people. How many of them are there?" My breath catches nervously, this _is_ what I wanted to know, but now that it's out there am I ready for the truth? Are we going to have to fight them? Will we have to kill them? Memories of the Governor flash into my mind. He killed for the 'safety' of us. Is that what we're willing to do?

I shift the hip which Judith is supported on, trying to release my muscles of their guitar-string like tension. My eyes are consumed with the image of Aaron in front of me, I take in and notice every shift of his weight, the flit of his eyes, the slight grimace and tilt of his head he gives before replying, "Does it matter?"

_Yes! _I practically yell in my mind. Judith pulls on the hoodie strings of my dirty jacket, putting one of them in her mouth. I look at her and know this is what I'm fighting for. I mentally reassure myself that Rick is no Governor, and we will not kill unless they prove to be an active threat. I gently take the hoodie string from her and I run my hand over her soft, pale hair.

"Yes, yes it does," Rick replies evenly, staring Aaron down. If Aaron plays too many more of these games he won't be around much longer.

"I mean, of course it matters how many people are actually out there, but does it matter how many people I tell you are out there? Because I'm pretty sure no matter what number I say- eight, thirty-two, four hundred and forty-four, zero. No matter what I say, you're not going to trust me." Aaron addresses a valid point, I don't trust him. Because taking people's word for it these days gets you killed, and we can't be taking risks that large, not anymore. Can we?

My eyes shift to Michonne who's staring at Rick, does she still think he's ok?

"Well, it's hard to trust anyone who smiles after getting punched in the face." retorts Rick.

"How about a guy who leaves bottles of water for you in the road?" Aaron asks. My jaw quivers from just a second. _From A Friend._ I recall the note. So he's the friend. _Is he though?_

Daryl turns to Aaron and practically snarls, "How long you people been following us?"

"Long enough to see that you practically ignore a pack of roamers on your trail. Long enough to see that girl," Aaron nods at me and my throat tightens up, but I stare coldly back at him, "is injured and needs medical attention, which we can provide. Long enough to see that despite a lack of food and water, you never turned on each other. You're survivors and you're people. Like I said, and I hope you won't punch me for saying it again, that is the most important resource in the world." he speaks in almost a preaching tone.

The discomfort and lack of trust is bitter in the air, my eyes go to Michonne and then Daryl, before landing on Rick who slowly steps toward Aaron, "How many others are out there?"

"One." he says. I frown, knowing that can't be true, "I knew you wouldn't believe me. If it's not words, if it's not pictures, what would it take to convince you that this is for real? What if I drove you to the community? All of you? We leave now, we'll get there by lunch." Aaron offers.

"I'm not sure how the 15 of us are going to fit in the car you and your one friend drove down here in." Rick says, a twinge of distrustful humor in his twang.

"We drove separately" explains Aaron, "If we found a group, we wanted to be able to bring them all home. There's enough room for all of us."

Carol scoffs, "And you're parked just a couple miles away, right?" Mockery is sour upon her tongue and her glare. _If Carol doesn't buy then I shouldn't either right?_ I mean this is awfully suspicious. I don't like that he knows of my injuries, my weaknesses.

"East on Ridge Road, just after you hit Route 16. We wanted to get them closer, but then the storm came, blocked the road. We couldn't clear it." Aaron tells us and my eyes narrow.

"Yeah, you've really thought this through." Rick's voice reflects my own suspicions.

"Rick, if I wanted to ambush you, I'd do it here. You know, light the barn on fire while you slept, pick you off as you ran out the only exit." the pure idea of it makes my skin prickle, "You can trust me." he tries to reassure us.

"I'll check out the cars." offers Michonne, she still seems relatively on board with the idea of this place.

"There aren't any cars." scorns Rick

"There's only one way to find out." Michonne challenges.

"We don't need to find out." Rick argues.

"We do." Michonne tells him with a sense of finality. Normally her and Rick understand each other and are on the same level, I can't recall a time when Michonne questioned his word, let alone oppose it, "You know what you know and you're sure of it, but I'm not."

"Me neither," Maggie agrees

Rick shakes his head, more in disbelief than disagreement, "Your way is dangerous, mine isn't."

"Passing up someplace where we can live? Where Judith can live? That's pretty dangerous. We need to find out what this is. We can handle ourselves." Michonne persists, determined that this is the way. It's not that she's wrong, we do need a place to call home. Our time on the road is killing us in more ways than one. Her face hardens into an expression of unbreakable strength, "So that's what we're gonna do." and she's made up her mind. That's what we're gonna do.

Glenn speaks up, "Then I will, too. I'll go."

Rick looks at her, then at Glenn, before his eyes drop to his boots, he looks up again, before turning around, "Abraham."

"Yeah," Abraham nods, he lifts the rifle and holds it with both hands as he walks towards Aaron, "I'll walk with him."

"Rosita?" he looks up at the girl with the army hat and pigtails.

"Ok," she turns around to pick up her stuff.

Rick turns back to Glenn, "If there's trouble, you got enough firepower?"

Glenn shrugs, "We got what we got."

Rick reaches back into his holster and pulls out a gun for Glenn to take, Glenn grabs it and nods at Rick firmly.

"The walkies are out of juice. If you're not back in sixty minutes we'll come, which might be just what they want." Rick orders. He turns to the rest of us as the others walk out the door without Aaron, "If we're all in here, we're a target."

"I've got the area covered." Daryl nods, he picks up his crossbow and walks out the door.

"All right, groups of two, find somewhere safe within eye-shot." Rick commands. We all file out the door, I turn to Rick when I reach him to ask if he wants me to take Judith, but he takes her without us exchanging any words. He nods at me and pats Carl on the back as we head out the door.

Outside, I'm horrified at the sight splayed before my eyes. Trees have fallen, debris scattered thickly, obscuring most of the ground. Walkers are splayed out everywhere. Some of them not quite dead yet, only held down by the dense weight of the fallen logs. Their hunger driven moans rise as they pick up our scent, sense our proximity. Black blood stains the ground in sporadic locations, detached limbs scattered like confetti. The stench of rotting dead mixes with freshly fallen rain into something that makes me want to gag it's so fundamentally foul.

The group spreads out over the area, the larger group which is heading to check out the cars, veers right and heads out the way we came back to the road. Several pairs dissolve into the woods, and without verbal communication Carl and I designate each other as our partner and we head back behind the barn to where there's an especially thick crop of bush-like trees. Carl pushes back one of the branches and nods for me to crawl in. Even with the full onset winter, the leaves on the branches retain some green and volume. I push past a few branches and find an empty patch big enough to sit in. Carl crawls in behind me. My knees are tucked up to my chest, trying to take up as little space as possible. My hip moans in protest, but despite my discomfort, I can't do anything about it. Carl's back presses against one of the branches and he tries to situate himself. His side presses against my shoulder and he stays in a crouching position.

It's so quiet I can hear him breathing beside me, not even nature makes a sound. A silence this thick is unnerving. My fingers dig into the fresh mud, cool and sticky as I try and release some nervous energy and pain.

"What do you think of Aaron?" Carl asks quietly, probably sensing my discomfort.

I shake my head, "It just doesn't seem possible, if anything it reminds me of Woodbury."

Carl bites his lip, quiet for a moment, "I'd like to believe it's real, if for nothing else, for Judy." I nod, understanding.

"How long do you think they've been watching us?" I ask him

"At least a couple days, I'd guess, especially if they could tell you're hurt," his eyes linger carefully on me, though he shields any emotion could be revealed through his eyes.

"Doesn't take too long to pick up on that," I shrug, "but what bothers me is, if they've noticed us starving and they've been out there, why didn't they help us if they're really as good as Aaron says they are. And what else have they seen? I bet they know exactly how many weapons we've got and how much ammo. And what if they're just using us Carl? What if we're just being tricked?" I look at him, my eyes wide and fearful, "Also there's something about Aaron that I can't shake. It's like this overwhelming goodness of character." _Like the Governor gave off_. I don't add.

"You know Sam, if you spend all your time in the past, it makes it difficult to see the future," he looks at me, his blue eyes are practically glowing in this light and I manage a small smile for his sake, "And there is a future. I know there has to be." there's such an intensity in his eyes, a solid determination that no one could dare waver.

"I'm just tired of being out here, and if everything checks out, then I guess I won't fight it. Not if I means I have a place to sleep at night without being plagued by hunger or thirst." I shrug passively. I know he has a point and I see that. I just also see what's happened in the past and I don't want history to repeat itself.

After that, conversation goes stale and we just keep lookout until Carl spots Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Abraham, and Rosita's return. They arrive with a car and an RV. So Aaron wasn't lying. They park and get out, their arms loaded with cans. They don't look like they had to fight anyone for it, which brings a twist of hope in my gut. I look at Carl, and he nods. We crawl out of the bush and walk back to the barn. The others retreat from their hiding holes back to the barn and we find Rick feeding Judy some applesauce inside. They pile up all the food they've collected, my stomach grumbles just looking at it. Carl moves the water bottles to the bigger pile as Rick, who's been crouching by the pile until then, picks up a can and shakes it purposefully at Aaron.

"This, this is ours now," he tells Aaron.

Aaron shrugs, still tied against one of the beams that extends to the barn's roof, "There's more than enough."

"It's ours, whether or not we go," Rick informs him.

I'm surprised when Carl speaks up beside me, "What do you mean? Why wouldn't we go?"

Michonne turns to him to explain, "If he were lying or if he wanted to hurt us," she turns away then and looks more at Rick to prove a point, "but he isn't, and he doesn't. We need this. So we're going, all of us. Somebody say something if they feel differently."

She looks around, but no one speaks up. Perhaps it's the authority in her voice, or the fact that all of us are too tired from being on the road to fight what is turning out to seem like a pretty good gig.

Daryl turns to Rick, "I don't know, man. This barn smells like horse shit." I bite off a small grin.

Rick looks to Michonne, "Yeah. We're going." then he turns around and walks over to Aaron, "So where are we going? Where's your camp?"

"Well, every time I've done this, I've been behind the wheel driving recruits back. I believe you're good people. I've bet my life on it. I'm just not ready to bet my friends' lives just yet." Aaron says apprehensively.

Michonne stalks toward him, her menacing sword swinging back and forth on her back, "You're not driving. So if you want to get home, you'll have to tell us how. " I'm glad she's not completely won over by this place.

Aaron frowns, but after a moment he complies, "Go north on Route 16." Rick squats on the ground with our map.

"And then?" questions Michonne.

"I'll tell you when we get there." Aaron tells her.

"We'll take 23 north. You'll give us directions from there." Rick decides. He's being extra cautious, he's on my side.

Aaron appears alarmed by Rick's statement, "That's- I don't know how else to say it- that's a bad idea. We've cleared 16. It'll be faster."

Rick looks up at him from the map, unphased, "We'll take 23. We leave at sundown."

Aaron turns his head away, obviously disapproving, but I guess our friend will just have to deal with it.


	66. Need

Everyone_ needs_ something. There's the basic needs, food, water, shelter, and love. Love is one a lot of people overlook because love isn't a physical thing you can obtain the way you obtain those other three. And others might say you don't need love or love doesn't exist. But pre-Turn, scientists did studies about infants involving the care and the love they were shown. Some babies were only shown the necessary care to keep them alive, while others were nurtured and adequately cared for. The development of the infants of the minimal care babies was substantially less than the nurtured ones. Some of the neglected babies even died. All that aside, everyone needs love, not necessarily romantic love, but love all the same. So when it comes to_ needs_ everyone has them.

At sunset we board the RV. Rick takes Glenn and Michonne with him to accompany Aaron in the car. We've taken an many precautions as we can in case of the always potential awry situation. We split the supplies proportionally to each of our needs. Anxiety bubbles up in my stomach. It's almost like a first day of school feeling, where you didn't know what was going to happen, but you just didn't want it to suck. I suppose that mentality fits here, though the scenario is much more dire than having a bad day.

When you step into the RV, just behind the driver's seat, there's a booth, I choose the side which faces forward and sit closest to the window and Carl slides in beside me. Everyone else finds a place to sit. Abraham drives and Rosita sits in the passenger seat as navigator. Across from us sits Tara and Eugene. Behind me is a chair which Noah takes. Daryl immediately reveals he has no true intentions of sitting for an extended period of time as he hops on the kitchenette counter. Father Gabriel, Maggie, and Sasha file further back. Carol stands beside Daryl and we're all loaded in. Our supplies sit in various backpacks and duffel bags in the back of the RV by the pullout couch.

Once the car in front of us is situated, we take off, leaving the creaky, old barn behind.

Though the window has blinds, we pull them up to get full coverage of the world outside. I lean my head against the window as we bump along the dirt road. There's a huge bump when we transition from the dirt to the pavement that rocks the entire RV. I decide that I should probably stop unless I want to give myself a headache. I look over at Carl who's holding Judith. He's got her sitting on the table, she grasps a couple of his fingers with her hands and giggles. Her small, chubby legs sticking straight in front of her. She's gotten to eat today, so that must give her the energy to laugh. I think the fact that we all got to eat decently will make this trip a little easier to bear.

"Arl! Arl!" she squeals as she bounces up and down on the table

"C-arl," Carl tells her, trying to emphasize the 'kuh' sound for her.

Judy gives him a wider grin, "Arl! Arl!" she laughs even harder at the mildly discouraged look on Carl's face.

"Say kuh," he persists

"Ka," she replies with an eager grin.

"Good Judy, now say Kuh-arl. Carl." He nods excitedly

"Arl!" she swings her arms and kicks her little legs with excitement. Carl lets out an exhausted sigh.

"Hey Judy," I pipe in, tickling her stomach, "say 'Sam'."

"Sa-am! Sa-am!" she giggles. I pop Carl a smug glance and he elbows me in the side.

"Good job Judy!" I congratulate her.

"Come on Jud' I know you can do it, say 'Carl' kuh-arl." he practically cheers her on.

"Ka-arl." she sounds out very carefully. Carl gets so excited he hugs his baby sister.

"Yes, Judy that's right! Carl!" he nods excitedly

"Arl! Arl!" she swings her small arms.

"You tried," I tease. Carl gives an melodramatic sigh.

"One day," he grumbles halfheartedly. Judith looks at him with her wide innocent gaze, not quite sure what's going on, but still she smiles at him. Carl, unable to hide his unconditional love for her, smiles back. This seems to be enough to please Judy.

Remnants of sunlight tinge the sky purplish-blue, the color between day and night. The difference between light and dark. The first stars shine in the sky above, revealing that night is not far. Carl continues to play with Judith, keeping her entertained until she begins to get drowsy. It starts with her arms waving less passionately, and then her smiles become looser, then her blinks get real slow. Finally she lets out an enormous yawn for such a small mouth. Carl lifts her from the table and cradles her in his arms.

"Hey Sam, would you mind reading her a bedtime story?" he looks up at me, even in the dim light his blue eyes are luminescent. I can tell by the way he looks at me that he's not just asking for her. I muse at his thorough enjoyment of me reading the same two stories. Granted it has been weeks since I've even touched those books, but still.

I roll my eyes teasingly, "If you insist."

He stands up so I can go to the back of the bus where the backpack with all of Judith's belongings (and our books) are. I sway with the movement of the RV. We hit a bump, "Mother of dick." curses Abraham, and then we slam to a stop,

I'm thrown backward, and I catch myself on the side of the RV, my hip radiating with resulting pain. Daryl's arm stretches out and steadies me, he gives me a look, silently asking if I'm alright, when I nod, he returns the nod and then stalks over from the counter where he'd braced himself up to the front of the RV. The lights inside the RV go on with our stop, and I have to blink several times to adjust my eyes.

"Why'd we stop?" he asks Abraham.

"There's biters up ahead, I think we just ran over one of the bastards," Abraham replies

"Then why the hell'd we stop?" Daryl asks, almost baffled. I notice that the car with Rick and the others is still driving ahead, bodies of the undead ricocheting off the car, some sticking, red is everywhere regardless.

"Help!" cries a muffled voice. My whole body stiffens instinctively, "Help me!" it cries again. Daryl pushes open the RV door, crossbow in hand, he jumps out of the van, the voice then becomes clearer. I hear the sound of an arrow being fired. I hear the warm sounds of a knife disturbing flesh. Rosita and Abraham rise to their feet and get out of the vehicle as well, coming to Daryl's aid. I forget for a moment that I am considered a child among these people rather than someone who can defend themselves just as well as anyone else. Knife sharpener in hand, I hop down the steps and enter a bloody scene, walkers surrounding us, some already down, Daryl and Abraham taking down the walkers as they come, and behind the RV, a man on the ground, reaching for an ankle that must be injured.

"Sam!" calls Rosita over the noise of walkers and their accompanying deaths, "Help me get him on the RV. He's hurt." I help get the man to his feet, though I'm not sure who he is or why we're helping him. This could be a set up for all I know. All the same, I wrap my arm around this man's back as he grabs my opposite shoulder with his arm. Rosita and I help the man up to the RV, I'm the last one to get to the steps. A stray walker darts towards me, I quickly kick it back and expertly pull my knife sharpener out and force it into the skull of the walker as it comes back a second time. Then I hop up the steps and Daryl and Abraham are quick to follow suit. The doors are then shut and Rosita and I help get the man to the pullout couch. Once he's sitting down, we can actually question him. And Daryl's right next to us and ready to interrogate.

Someone pulls on my shoulder, and I turn around to face Carl, with a sleeping Judy in his arms. We step back a bit and then he speaks, "The hell was that?" he speaks quietly to not alarm anyone else on the RV, including his sister.

I shrug, "They needed help."

He scowls at me, "They could've handled it just fine, someone else could've..." he trails off unhappily.

"No one did though, and I just acted on instinct. It's not like I did anything wrong, Carl," I argue.

His expression doesn't change, "I just don't want you to get hurt."

I bite my lower lip, "I'm fine, see, nothing is wrong." I lift my arms and show him I'm just fine. His scowl melts to more exhaustion than anger.

He releases a tired sigh and repeats, "I just don't want you to get hurt."

I nod understanding, I kiss his cheek softly, "I manage myself just fine." I say before brushing past him and going back to our booth seat. Carl follows and not long after that, Daryl and Abraham gather the group to catch us all up on the situation with this man.

"He's with Aaron, name's Eric," Abraham explains, "he's the one that he was talking about. All their facts line up. Seems like that ass-wipe was telling the truth after all."

"So what do we do now?" asks Carol, crossing her arms.

"Eric says he knows a place we can hole up for the night, he's got a flare gun we can send up. Hopefully Rick n' them will see it. That's what we do now." Abraham orders. Daryl nods in consent to all of what Abraham has said. On that note, whatever meeting we just had adjourns and everyone goes back to their business. Abraham starts the RV up and the lights go out again. At this point, night has staked its full claim on the Earth. With the lights out, and the fact that no one is really talking anymore, exhaustion of the day's events sets in. I find myself staring blankly out the window at the world as it passes by, my eyes focus on the stripes on the road that no longer possess any meaning. Oncoming traffic has become stray walkers ambling out in the middle of the road on their blind trek for their next meal. There is no point to staying in a lane anymore, just as long as you avoid abandoned cars.

As I continue to gaze out the window, I feel warm fingers slip in between mine, I break my stare and I swing my head to the right, I can just make out the small smile on Carl's face as he looks at me. He holds sleeping Judith with his other arm. His expression is sleepy, he has the same loose smile as his sister when she gets that way. I return the smile and then go back to my staring out the window.

At some point I slip in and out of consciousness, I'm never out for very long, and before I know it, we've stopped. Daryl, Abraham, and Rosita get out to check out the place, make sure that there's nothing living or dead lurking around. In the meantime, the rest of us gather our belongings and stand antsy waiting for the others to get back. They're back quickly, and then we all unload the RV, Abraham locking it up after everyone is off.

The building is far down an alley with a sign over it that reads 'Supply Room', one could only hope it holds supplies. I have to remind myself that if all goes as it's supposed to, we won't need supplies for much longer. Daryl holds up the flare gun and he fires it into the air, sending off the signal for Rick. The group stops from filing past Daryl for a moment and our eyes take to the sky as the flare illuminates the blackness above. The door creaks open and among us, about 3 flashlights click on, myself included. The building has dank, stale air that is hard to breathe, but it's the same as any other building nowadays so I know I'll adjust. We spread out in the building, trying to do a quick run through for supplies. I shine my beam to the walls, uniform slots line the walls, all labeled. Nothing appears to be in any kind of order however. Miscellaneous items scatter across the floor, pushed into corners, stacked along the walls, piled onto a wooden desk in the corner. Items spill out from storage containers along the walls while other things are stuffed into some of the wall's cubbies. We find some candles along with ones we've saved, illuminating the room enough to see by. Someone lights the lantern from the barn.

Maggie declares that we should fix up Eric the best we can. She's shouldering him along with Rosita. Noah points out some lawn furniture cushions that are in a back room that's separated from the first part by a wall covered with those slots and I go help arrange them in a useful fashion. Maggie and Rosita set him down and Maggie digs through the duffel bag that holds what few medical supplies we do have. A twinge of guilt roots in my gut, knowing that I used most of those supplies. They prop his injured ankle up with one of the cushions and begins to examine it. I stand just behind her, watching curiously. First she removes his shoe and sock, then she moves the ankle around just slightly. These small movements are enough to cause Eric's face to seize up in pain.

"It's probably broken," she grimaces, breaking the news to Eric, "With swelling like this, it's pretty obvious. I can splint it and wrap it up, but that's all I can really do."

Daryl walks up and tosses a bottle at Maggie, "Found these, figured they might help."

"And," she adds, "I can give you a couple of these."

"Thank you," he nods gratefully.

Maggie turns around and grabs my wrist, "Can I get you to find something to hold his ankle steady?" I nod compliantly and turn around, searching the mounds of stuff for something useful. In the front of the building, I discover a two-by-four hidden under a pile of mildewing clothes and crumpled up pieces of paper. I pull it out and take it back over to Maggie.

"Will this work?" I present the board to her, and she nods, taking the board from my hands. She stands up, holding the board at either end and then kicks it, splitting the board in half. She waves her head at me indicating I can leave now. I go back to the front area of the building where most of the rest of the group seems to have set up camp for the night. The past 24 hours have been a long one, and the wear is showing in many people's eyes as they prepare to rest for the night, or at least until Rick gets here. I notice Daryl is nowhere to be seen, he must be outside standing guard. I sit next to Carl on the cold, concrete floor. He holds Judith in his lap, despite all the commotion we've caused, she has yet to stir from her sleep. He stares at her now, running his fingers through her hair.

"You ok there sheriff?" I ask

His eyes flit to meet mine, no doubt there's some worry there, "I'm just worried about my dad," his gaze leaves as soon as it came.

"He'll come back, he knows what he's doing," I reassure him.

He gives the slightest shake of his head, "It's not just that, this whole paranoid over-commanding thing, I've seen it before. Or at least forms of it."

I remember a long time ago, back at the prison when Carl told me Rick went crazy after he lost his wife, Carl's mom.

"But he came back," I reason, "He came back then and he'll come back now. It just takes time. I get what he's going through. I don't completely trust these people either Carl."

He frowns a little, "I guess." is all he says. I don't like this answer, but I don't challenge him, there's no way to make him see things the way I see them and I accept that. All that's left to do is sit and wait.

I take Carl's hand and I hold it, but I don't push conversation any further. Instead I stare ahead blankly, losing myself in empty thought.

After a while there's a knock on the door, they must be back. My eyes meet Carl's and he hands me his sleeping sister before springing to his feet, and practically sprinting out the door. I stand up too, moving closer to the entrance.

"Eric!" I hear the voice of Aaron call, "Eric!" he calls again, this time more panicked. He calls one more time before I hear Eric yell from the back area of the building.

"In here!" he calls for his friend.

Aaron bursts through the door, still calling for Eric. I point him to the back area, which Aaron nods in response. An inkling of curiosity causes me to follow. The tone in Aaron's voice just didn't feel typical for some reason. I hear steps behind me, I turn my head, Rick.

Eric is reassuring Aaron that he's ok. 'A volleyball injury' he calls it. Whatever that's supposed to mean. Aaron crouches by the wrapped ankle as Eric continues to explain. Aaron gets closer and closer to him until he's right next to Eric, then he kisses him. Alright, so friends was an understatement. Rick shifts uncomfortably beside me, but doesn't step forward. They break apart and continue to talk, softer, staying very close. Anyone could see the two are in love. They discuss that Aaron lost the car and Eric reassures him that it's ok and the RV will just scare the walkers away. By this time, Rick decides to step from the shadows and reveal himself.

The two men turn to Rick, "Hi." says Eric, "I'm Eric."

"Rick," he replies shortly.

Aaron turns to his lover, "It's ok." then he stands up and he follows Rick back out to the main room.

"Excuse me," Aaron says, "excuse me." he attempts to get everyone's attention, "Everyone. Thank you. You saved Eric. I owe you. All of you. And I will make sure that debt is paid in full when we get to our community. When we get to_ Alexandria_. Now, I'm not sure about you, but I'd rather not do any more driving tonight." his little hint at humor actually gets a couple laughs, "Maybe we can hit the road tomorrow morning?" he turns to Rick in suggestion.

"That sounds fine." Rick agrees, "But if we're staying here for the night, you're sleeping over there." he nods towards the front corner of the building.

"You really think we gotta do that?" Maggie questions, she can obviously see the power of the relationship between the two men.

"It's the safe play. We don't know you." Rick reasons. I understand what he's doing, but at the same time, I'm starting to believe this really could be something.

"The only way you're gonna stop me from being with him right now is by shooting me." I'm alarmed at the tone backing up his words, it's the first time we've seen Aaron be anything but patient. But any of us would say the same to be with the one's we love. My eyes subconsciously go to Carl, who seems to be very guarded right now.

Silence rings in my ears as the tension rises. Aaron takes a step forward, "Whoa," Glenn holds him back and he turns to Rick and his voice drops to a hiss, if I weren't right behind Rick I probably wouldn't have heard it, "Rick, he told us where the camp is. And he really was only travelling with one other person. They're both unarmed. One of them's got a broken ankle. I want us to be safe, too. I can't give up everything else. I know what I said, but it_ does_ matter."

Rick is silent for a moment, still not perfectly content with the situation, but at least he becomes cooperative, "Alright."

Then tension in Aaron's shoulders relaxes and Rick allows him to pass by to go back to Eric. I stare at him as he passes by, for no particular reason other than I'm trying to figure him out. He gives me a strange look back, but gives it no second thought as he continues on to his true target.

Glenn and Rick continue to quietly talk amongst themselves as people really settle in for the night. The low buzz of other conversations going on, not loud enough for me to comprehend, just present enough to roar in my ears.

I keep a respectful distance as I tap Rick's shoulder. The conversation halts and Rick turns to face me, I offer him his sleeping daughter and he gives me a small, friendly enough smile and takes Judith from my arms. I then let the men go back to their conversation and one of the opened cabinets catches my eye. As I get closer I realize that the material that caught my eyes is a blanket. I instantly get closer and snatch it from the cabinet, because blankets aren't easy to come by believe it or not, and now that I've found one I'm going to use it. It's a pale green with frayed ends, but it's plenty soft and should do well to keep me warm. I walk over to where Carl is already sitting, talking to Noah, and I sit beside him, exhaustion weighing my eyelids down. I let out an unintentional yawn and Carl turns his attention to me.

"You should get some sleep, whatever tomorrow brings, being tired won't help." his eyes are full of concern, running up and down my body, "Did you get some of those painkillers from Daryl?"

I shake my head, "I don't need them." Even though I know the opposite is true.

Carl gives me a look that says 'I know better than that', but doesn't physically say anything, so I refuse to defend my point. However, I will take him up on that offer of sleep. I wrap myself in my new found blanket and then I lay down, using Carl's leg as a pillow. My hair flows freely over my shoulders and in my face. I close my eyes, and then I feel my hair being pushed out of my face and then fingers, presumably Carl's, running through it. The action is so soothing, I find myself even sleepier than before. After a little bit I feel both awake and asleep, I hear my surroundings but at the same time, dream like images form in my mind with no particular rhyme or reason. I tune most of the conversation between Carl and Noah out until something catches my ear.

"I saw you talking to Sam after she ran off the RV, what was that about?" Noah asks.

I can feel Carl shrugging, "I just worry about her, you know? She's so stubborn and reckless."_ Right here_. I can't help but think,_ How long has it been since I've laid down?_

"Yeah, but she knows what she's doing. You've never been at the wrong end of a gun she was pointing." Noah points out.

"I know she does. I love that about her. It's not every day you meet a_ scary_ girl, it's awesome. Sometimes though, I just feel like she cares more about other people's lives than her own."

A new voice speaks up, "She's a lot like you that way." Rick.

Carl's breath catches for a moment and his fingers stop moving through my hair, "I'm just scared for the one time she runs out there and she never comes back. I can't just run out there anymore, not like her. I have Judy, she_ needs_ me. Sam though, she doesn't_ need_ anyone. I don't think she believes anyone_ needs_ her."

"But do_ you_ need Sam?" Noah asks

He's silent for a little bit, "Yeah, I do."


	67. At the Gates

Gates traditionally are something of a decision point. Either you go through them or you don't. There's the biblical reference, with Peter and the pearly gates and all that jazz. Of course you can think about the old world, getting into any movie or sporting event, if you have your ticket you're clear to go. Not to mention airports where if you have the wrong stuff you are not getting through at all. But now, the shoe is somewhat on the other foot. At the gates of Terminus we were faced with a decision, do we go or do we not. Of course, the decision we made was not necessarily the right one. But all the same we stood at those gates and we made choices and that's what we face now, choices in the making, gates to storm or gates to turn back from.

My breath catches in my throat at those words. My hand, which had been previously resting on his leg, gives his knee a slight squeeze. He gives no physical reaction, but I just wanted to let him know I heard him. Even after the high of hearing him say that, I'm still ridiculously drowsy. To break the previous silence, Rick tells the boys it's about time they went to sleep. Noah tells Carl goodnight and he settles in for the night. Carl, however, is still stroking my hair, and even though neither of us has to say anything there's an understanding between us. Then he speaks in a low murmur just loud enough for me to hear, "Goodnight bookworm," It's all enough lull me into a deep sleep.

I wake before him the next morning. His hat has fallen to the ground on his other side, his head tilted back and askew. His mouth gaping, drool dangles from the corner of his mouth. His dark hair is matted and severely disheveled, obscuring his closed eyes. A smile creeps across my face on its own, just looking at him as I sit up. His hand thumps to the ground from presumably my back. The smile doesn't fade and I find myself staring, if he woke up right now he'd probably think it was super creepy. But at the same time, I really don't care. There's something about seeing him this way that's so raw and real, as dumb as it sounds I like how he looks now the best.

I do turn away after a bit, and I just sit, back to the wall, beside Carl's sleeping form. I watch as people around me awake from their states of slumber, and then there's the few, like Daryl, who've been up before me and perhaps haven't slept at all. I suspect Rick is among them.

Carl stirs beside me and I turn back to him. His eyes are glassy with sleep, and he has to blink hard several times before he seems to come into focus. I crack another smirk at his rumpled appearance. He looks at me in his groggy stupor, "What?" his voice is raspy and lower than usual.

"Nothing," I shake my head, "good morning, gorgeous." I tease.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs "I know I am." he runs his hand through his hair, trying to manage the mess. He puts his hat back on, and then stands up, "I'm gonna go get Judy."

I nod and accept the fact that this day is starting and I should do my part in preparing for it. Daryl is still camping by the door; at least he's sitting now. That's a start. I get to my feet and I pull my beanie from my jacket pocket and stuff as much hair as I can under it. I sincerely hope Alexandria has showers, because I am in desperate need of one. I walk over to Daryl and he looks up from picking at the plastic on his crossbow.

"What's the plan?" I ask quietly, the building is so deathly quiet this morning that speaking at even a normal volume would feel like yelling.

"We should be out of here soon, as soon as Rick makes the call," he nods toward Rick, "Did you get any of them pills I found?" he turns back to me. I shake my head and shrug; he pulls the bottle from his vest pocket, "Take 'em." I take the bottle and dry swallow a couple of the pain killers. I hand him the bottle back and he nods in approval, though he sounds and appears so worn out it's worrisome.

"When was the last time you slept, Daryl?" I ask after I get the pills down.

"Don't matter none," he shakes his head, looking away, "now get, ya got better things ta be worryin' 'bout."

I frown, unhappy with his answer, but I comply. I turn away and find Carl walking back over with Judith and a jar of applesauce, she's awake now and getting fussy. I offer to help him, which he accepts. I take the applesauce and he sits down cross-legged with his sister in his lap, facing me. He holds her still as her small, socked feet kick at the air and she lets out a hungry whine. One, I've learned, precedes a full blown, sobbing, temper tantrum. These whines are like a time bomb, and you never know exactly when she's going to blow. So I quickly crack open the jar and dig the spoon in before pulling it out and feeding Judy. She accepts the food and Carl and I both release a small sigh of relief, the whining ceases as does the kicking, she becomes enamored with the applesauce and I continue to feed her bite after bite until she's made a small dent on the jar. Then I know we should stop and conserve what we've got, just in case. She gives me a pouty lip and sad eyes, knowing her hungry belly wants to be fed. Out of guilt, I give her one more bite before cracking down on myself and putting up the applesauce.

Carl changes Judy's diaper and mostly switches her outfit, rotating out the pieces closest to her body. She's the only one we've changes of clothes for, so we do the best we can. By the time Judy is changed in all senses of the word, everyone is awake, including Aaron and Eric. We split some of the rations we technically stole from Aaron and Eric, despite Aaron telling us it was ok. He won't think it's so ok if Rick decides that Alexandria isn't what we thought it was and we leave with those supplies, continuing the cycle of distrust.

The canned peas are cool and sticky in my throat, and despite their mushiness and lack of true flavor, I can't get enough of them. My portion is gone before I realize what's even happened; Carl does nearly the same with his ration. My stomach growls for more and it's almost painful to try and tell myself that we won't be hungry for much longer, even though I haven't mentally convinced myself that this is true. I watch everyone else around me either consume their meal in the same animal-like manor or pace themselves to the best of their self-control. Some, like Maggie or Sasha, you can see their physical struggle to control their bodies.

The meal finishes up and people start to get to their feet and I know it's time. We pick up our bags, and in a last second whim, I stuff the blanket I found into the bag of mostly Judith's stuff. We file out the door, Carol first, Rick last, we head toward the RV. The chilly morning air hits me, maybe it's because it's Virginia winter, or just because the sun hasn't been up for long, or perhaps both. Either way it makes me squeeze my shoulders closer to my ears and cross my jacket across my body, hands stuffed into pockets. Anything to dull the chill. Carl wraps Judy tighter in the blanket she's already swaddled in. The sun is high enough to light the sky, but not high enough to pass over the buildings surrounding the alleyway and warm us with its beams. My boots crunch on the ground over leaves and stray debris as I head over to the RV, following just a step behind Carl. Rick pulls Carl off to the side to get in a car that he and Michonne are taking. I stand still, not sure where to go. I lock eyes with Carl and Carl nods to his dad in my direction. Rick nods in agreement and I follow Carl to the car.

The seats in the car are cold, even through my pants as I sit down. I shut my door behind me and then buckle myself in. It's easier to sit than it normally is, my hip doesn't throb and when I turn there's no burn in my ribs, the pills are kicking in. I place the backpack in the floor behind the center console. Carl gets in and situates himself before removing Judy from her cocoon. He sits her on his lap so she's facing him. He supports her on each side and makes goofy faces to amuse her. And amuse her he does. She is all giggles and smiles as we depart down the road.

A little ways down the road, Michonne turns around to watch Carl playing with Judith, "Have you taught her peekaboo yet?" Her eyes are a brilliant deep brown, and they appear amused at the sight. I think about her having her own child, she's probably recalling fond memories, and too soon followed by the not so pleasant. I see the slight smile morph into a straight line and her eyes turn hard. Her shields have gone back up just like that.

"Hey Judy," I use an unfamiliar sing-song tone. Her perky expression turns towards me, her arms bouncing to a non-existent rhythm.

I cover my face with my hands and then show my face to her, "Peekaboo!" She squeals with excitement, the novelty of it new and thrilling. I catch Rick looking at me through his rearview mirror; his eyes reveal amusement and approval. I repeat the game over and over, her enthusiasm never dulls, she always reacts like this is happening for the first time and it's absolutely adorable. I continue to play with her until we pull over. Something must be wrong with the RV.

Rick parks the car and is the first out as everyone on the RV disembarks, Glenn and Abraham head around to the front of the RV, out of view. Carl swaddles Judith back in her polka dotted blanket and then we step out of the car as well. Rick heads to go check out what the problem is. By this time it's mid to late morning, and even with the sun on my skin, the wind still chills me to my bones. I shiver beside Carl uncontrollably; I used to not shiver this much when it was cold. But I guess I had more 'insulation' then opposed to now where every part of my body is bony as hell. Rick soon comes back with a full report, the battery died apparently. I look past Rick and see Abraham following Glenn to the side of the RV where Glenn reveals another battery. Rick and Michonne sit on the hood while Carl and I stand further back.

"Are you warm enough?" he looks at me and my shivering.

I nod, "I'm fine."

Carl starts to remove his jacket, being careful of Judy, "Take it," he insists.

I shove it back towards him, "You'll get cold."

"You_ are_ cold," he argues.

"They'll get everything in motion soon," I shrug passively, "Keep it."

He glares at me, unsatisfied, but he slowly puts his jacket back on. Rick and Michonne speak so quietly in front of us that it's unintelligible to my ears. I rock back and forth on my feet, just trying to move enough to get my blood pumping and warm me a little.

They get the RV back up and running after a little while, though it felt like time froze and I with it. We clamber back into the car, we're close now. Rick went off to do something in the woods; my best guess is he went to relieve himself or something of that nature. But once he's in the car we take off.

I stare out the windows watching the trees whiz past me, daylight illuminating the clusters of remaining leaves, exposing the layers of trees beyond the row that lines the roadways.

"Hey Sam," Rick speaks up from the previous silence and hum of the car going down the road, "what was it like for you in Woodbury, being a kid?"

The question startles me, for a moment I can't speak, not sure what to say. I clear my throat and try to speak coherent thoughts, "It wasn't all that bad I suppose, they just didn't like us being loud outdoors. Oh, and there was a curfew, but that wasn't just for us kids, it was for everyone. Once the sun went down, we had to be inside." I pause for a moment, replaying the solid 8 or 9 months I spent there all in the span of a couple seconds, "Except on fight nights. Then they encouraged the noise and excitement. I only went to the mandatory ones though; there was really no appeal I guess. It just seemed terrible, trying to show that those monsters are just playthings. And there was always something off about the place. They always tried to shelter us kids from everything, and it was dumb because I knew what it was really out there. But their logic never quite added up to me either. It was all I knew as far as sanctuaries go at the time, so I dealt with it, and that was that. I never knew the Governor was a mad man, none of us did. Except for the ones that were close to him and they would never have done anything about it."

"We're not accusing you of that Sam; we just want to know what it was like there." Michonne reassures me.

They're trying to use my experiences to compare to what they find at Alexandria, "It's all in the leader. If the leader seems off, then the place is probably off." I tell them, "The normal people may be weird, but they may just be naive, that's what some people in Woodbury were like. It's horrifying to discover that you and your 14 year old self are better equipped to defend yourself than a full grown man."

Carl looks at me with wide eyes, I've never really told him what Woodbury was like, I've never told anyone. The car is silent as we rumble down the road.

"Thank you for telling us," Rick breaks the silence.

"No problem," I mumble half to myself. We pull down a road and I see it.

The gates of Alexandria. It appears innocent enough at first glance, but first glances aren't all what they seem. We're either about to make this place home or hell.


	68. Welcome Home

When I was young, up until I was about 8, my mother was a house-wife, which frankly suited her type. She enjoyed the cooking and the cleaning and making sure us kids had our lunches prepared for us every day. And she'd be there every day when I got home, with a juice box and a bowl of animal crackers set out for my brother and I. Then we'd watch cartoons while she made dinner. Sometimes I'd go outside and play with Dylan and sometimes he'd come inside with my brother and I and he'd indulge on the juice box and animal cracker fun. No matter what my mother always made sure we were welcomed home. What I wouldn't give for that kind of comfort and safety nowadays. Just to see her face one more time would put my soul at ease.

We pull up to the gates until we're about 30 feet away, Rick stops and rolls down the front windows of the car. We sit there in silence until I hear it, and I can tell Rick does too by the way he stiffens up. The laughter of children. I look at Carl and he's smiling at me excitedly, Judy coos and looks up at him, sensing his happiness. Rick looks over at Michonne and she smiles, reaching over and touching his hand which rests on the steering wheel, "You ready?" she asks. Rick's almost shaking as he looks away from her and back at his children.

"Yeah," he rasps, turning back to face the front of the car. People are walking out from the RV, passing by my window. A surge of emotions course through me. Fear, excitement, worry, hope.

Rick shakily puts the car in park and opens the door. On that signal, we open up the other three doors and pile out. Carl leaves Judy resting on her blanket on the middle seat for his dad to get. I step out of the way and let Rick grab his child. He wraps her up and I walk around the car to stand beside Carl, my fingers intertwine with his and he gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. We walk towards the gate to meet the others. I glance over my shoulder; Rick's holding his daughter still by the car. He begins to walk toward the group, veering in the direction of Carl and I. To our right are a couple houses, destroyed and blackened by a previous fire. I scan my eyes over the house nearest to the wall. _There in the window._

"Carl," I turn to him and hiss under my breath, "Look in that window, do you see a girl?" I move my eyes in the direction of the house with a slight nod of my head.

He looks past me and then narrows his eyes as he glances back at me, "What girl?"

I swing my head and he's right, she's gone. _Did I just imagine her? _

_Probably._

Aaron, who'd been previously helping Eric walk, lets him go through the partially opened gate. The gate itself is iron bars, but you can't see through to the other side thanks to a pale canvas sheet.

We wait in a tense silence, my muscles are rigid and ready to strike or run, and whatever needs to happen. A rustling stirs up to our left, everyone swings around, guns pointed, or in my case, knife sharpener in hand. An opossum skitters out from underneath a trash can lid, and before I or it knows what's going on, an arrow hits it and it's dead. Daryl picks him up just as the gates open up all the way. A man in a tan button up shirt and scruffy hair stares at us, rather appalled by the gory sight of the opossum shish-kebab.

Daryl raises the creature by its tail towards the man, "We brought dinner." I choke back a laugh. The man looks at Aaron as though to say, ''Really? You brought back _these_ people?"

Aaron nods, "It's ok. Come on in, guys." he waves, inviting us to cross the boundary, it's more than just a wall, it's the line between survival and sanctuary. We all move forward, everyone with a tight grip on their weapons. Not a muscle among the entire group is relaxed. We are war machines, forged from the toils of struggle and the fight that keeps our weary feet going. Regardless of what this place turns out to be, this will not be our end. As my gaze flutters from member to member of our group, I become sure that this is the truth. As I step past the gate, my gait becomes a little reluctant; each step becomes carefully placed, as though if I were to step on the wrong pebble a trap would spring loose. I realize that my grip on Carl's hand has become a squeeze and my eyes dart his way and I give him an apologetic micro expression, but I don't loosen the hold.

Just inside the gates are modern, clean houses, with trimmed lawns and tidy streets. It's like I stepped back into a pre-Turn world and the whole place gives me chills. To our right are several solar panels, a sight so foreign I do a double take. The gates creak closed after the last few members of our group pass through them. As I watch it shut, my heart rate increases, pounding feverishly against my chest. I feel like an animal, trapped in a cage. My eyes constantly stray to Rick, who's stepped in front of us now. I'm watching to see how he reacts to this place. Does he feel caged too?

The stranger in the tan shirt speaks up, "Before we take this any further, I need you all to turn over your weapons. Stay, you hand them over." he explains clearly. My fingers drum nervously on the plastic handle of my knife sharpener, visions of Terminus play back in my mind and I look to Rick again for further instructions.

Rick steps forward, Colt Python slung loosely in the hand that doesn't support Judith, "We don't know if we want to stay."

The man gives Rick a strange look, "It's fine, Nicholas." Aaron steps in, his eyes cautiously scan all of us, he'd hate to be wrong.

"If we were gonna use them, we would have started already." Rick comments. That's not going to help us any, even though he's right.

Nicholas is still obviously wary of us, not willing to take Aaron's word for it.

"Let them talk to Deanna first." Aaron insists

"Who's Deanna?" Abraham bursts out from behind me.

Aaron is quick to answer, "She knows everything you'd want to know about this place. Rick, why don't you start?" Rick turns around and looks at all of us, his eyes linger on his son a moment longer than they do on the rest of us.

"Sasha," Rick says, I turn to look at her as she turns around, I see a walker at about the distance of the RV, Sasha lifts her rifle and fires. Half of the walker's head goes flying in an explosion of blood and brain matter, the remaining body crumbles to the ground, now still and silenced. She turns around and the canvas layer of the gate closes, blocking off our view of the outside world.

"Good thing we're here," Rick mutters as he turns around and follows Aaron to wherever this Deanna is.

They walk towards the townhouse type buildings; they're two stories tall with balconies and fancy stonework. Obviously constructed just before the Turn, and have been properly maintained since then. My eyes follow them until the two men disappear from my line of sight and that's when the waiting game begins. You can feel the nervous tension in the air. Everyone holds their weapons even closer, and they become even more suspicious of any out of place movement. After a few minutes, Aaron's figure reappears, he's cradling Judy. Carl lets go off my hand and passes through the crowd, Nicholas speaks up, but Carl ignores him. Carl meets Aaron and reclaims his sister before rejoining the group.

"Rick will be back soon," Aaron assures us, "if he wants you to stay, then we'll continue the integration process and the rest of you will be interviewed. If he doesn't, well, you'll get to keep your guns." he shrugs at us meekly. I cut a glance over to Carl, and he gives me an earnest 'everything will work out' look.

Rick does return, and I guess we're staying because Nicholas and Aaron lead us over to the outside of one of the houses close to the gates. We stand in a neatly manicured courtyard. A lady with glasses and a round face comes out with a bin, she's followed by a small woman, around my height or shorter, she's an older lady, perhaps mid-fifties. Her hair is a light blonde and she's got a stern expression. I go out on a limb and assume this must be Deanna.

"They're still your guns. You can check them out whenever you go beyond the wall. But inside here, we store them for safety." Deanna promises. Rick nods at us, instructing that it's ok for us to give up our weapons. One by one, we step up, turning over our guns. Carl steps up; he tosses his Beretta in with the bunch. I ponder whether or not I should turn in my knife sharpener. I stare at Rick until I catch his attention, when I get it, I touch my knife sharpener and raise an eyebrow and nod toward the bin. He shakes his head, indicating for me to keep it, before looking away as though the conversation never happened.

One by one, Deanna calls us up to be interviewed, some are shorter than others. Finally Carl goes in and I stand nervously, knowing I'm next. Everyone else has been called, and I keep catching stray glances from others. I want to ask what kind of questions to look out for, but everyone seems fairly reserved about the ordeal, so instead I just kick at the stone paving, scuffing my boots idly. About 10 minutes go by and Carl walks out with Judith in his arms. He looks at me for a moment but says nothing, then he nods at me, indicating that it's my turn. I walk up the painted white, wooden steps up to where Deanna stands outside her door.

"You must be Sam," she offers me an indifferent smile that I return, though the idea of her knowing my name preemptively digs at the back of my mind.

I nod and I follow her inside as she opens the door. There's a couch facing a chair, both with intricate, stitched, designs. The walls and molding are ivory, but the floors are a rich, dark hardwood. My attention quickly goes to the bookshelf behind the chair, if Deanna tells me to sit down, I don't hear her. Instead I go to the books. My fingers running over each spine, I get excited just looking at them.

"You like reading?" Deanna asks

"Yeah," I mumble, I take one off the shelf and look at its summary.

"Take a couple, be my guest." she tells me invitingly.

I whirl around and my eyebrows narrow at her, "Don't you want them?"

She shrugs passively. She's standing behind the couching, she leans against the couch beside a tripod with a camera.

"Are you filming me?" I ask skeptically.

She replies instantly, carefully, "Yes, is that an issue?"

"Why?" is all I ask, still cradling the novel to my chest.

"All of our citizens have a right to know who their neighbor is. I keep all the interviews and they're accessible to any citizen at any time." she explains, "Now why don't you have a seat."

I nod, I whirl around and grab a couple more books before I take a seat in the plush chair. I rest my new books on the floor beside my feet and when I look up Deanna is seated at the couch, across a mahogany coffee table from me.

"What's your story?" she asks.

I shrug, but withhold an answer.

She eyes me as though I'm a chess opponent, "How long after the turn did you meet Rick?"

"About a year or so," I describe vaguely.

"How?" she pushes

"I was with bad people, but then Rick and his people took my father and I in." I state simply.

"Where is your father now, is he still in your group?" Deanna asks

My voice becomes void of all emotion, "He's dead."

Deanna nods, but not the way people normally would whenever you tell them something like that, she nods without emotion or empathy, "How long ago?"

I shrug again, "It's been a few months now."

She nods, "Do you trust Rick and the others?"

"Like they were my own family," I reply.

"What's that?" she points to my knife sharpener.

"Everything is a weapon if you want it to be," is all I say.

Deanna chuckles, "You're quite the clever girl, I'll give you that much. I can see that you're smart, you know what and what not to disclose. But this, right now, is when you need to tell me everything. I don't want any surprises down the road, that'll only end in trouble. So if there's anything I should know, you should tell me now." she ends on a very serious tone.

"First of all, your lack of empathy is sickening. I can guarantee you already knew my father was dead. You've interviewed everyone else in my group and you'd have figured out by now if my father was among us or not. I can tell that you're like me and you're perceptive and that makes for a damn good chess match, which is what I believe is what's going on right now. This isn't my first time around the block with these kinds of situations, and it's not Rick's first time either. So if you think there's something you need to know it's that I'm dangerous. And so is every damn person in this group, we've all done some bad things, but that doesn't make us bad people. It makes us experienced. So you better hope for your people's sake that we're on the same side." On that note I stand up and march out of the room.

As I open the door Deanna speaks up, "Oh Sam," she calls out and I turn around, "Welcome to Alexandria, we're glad you're here."


	69. Fresh Start

The thing about fresh starts is we could use them when we can't have them. But when we can? We don't know how to properly take advantage of them, and more or less your fresh start turns into the mush of who you've always been with maybe a few new elements. I've had a couple fresh starts since the Turn, first when I arrived at Woodbury, then the prison. And I guess here at Alexandria is another one. But I really think the only time a change of setting has changed me was the Turn, that's the only time I can really look back and think "I'm not her anymore". But is that really a good thing?

Aaron takes Rick to show us where we'll be staying while the woman who took our guns, named Olivia, hands out rations. Carl decides to follow his dad and I look after Judy for him. She takes us in a couple at a time. I wait outside in the midday heat with Noah, Tara, and Eugene.

They're quietly discussing what they think of the place so far, "Those solar panels are a major asset to this place. I'd bet this whole place is connected to the grid. That means electricity." Eugene comments to the benefit of the establishment.

"No need for homemade batteries here, huh." Tara jokes, probably an inside joke between the two. After Abraham drifted apart from Eugene and although Rosita still remains friendly with the man, Eugene's strongest bond has been forged with Tara.

The four members of our group that followed Olivia in, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and Carol, now walk out with either a backpack or a duffle bag in hand, Carol rolls a small suitcase. She waves at Olivia who walks out behind them and gives her a fragile smile.

_What the hell. _That may have been the most un-Carol thing I've ever seen.

Olivia points at 4 more of us, which happens to include me as well as Noah, Abraham, and Rosita. We follow her inside the building next to where I was interviewed; the air seems to be temperature regulated, like the one I was in earlier. This room- rather more like a house- seems to be the supply house. Olivia guides down a hallway to a pale painted room. A bed is pushed against the corner and is stripped of sheets. Spread out across the wall are various types of bags. Backpacks, duffle bags, big rolling suitcases, smaller, carriable suitcases, some are open with clothes spilling over the edges messily, others are zipped up tightly. In the far corner, beside the blank bed is a pile of clothes of all sizes. Logically, these bags must be organized by size and gender, though the latter could be irrelevant. Either way, it is an efficient system to organize and dole out clothes

Olivia looks over Noah, an impatient finger tapping on her upper lip. Then she turns around and digs through a couple bags before she seems to find what she's looking for. She hands Noah a worn, brown leather bag. "These should fit. If they don't just bring them back, we can find some ones that do." he takes the bag from her hands and nods. He sling the shoulder strap across his back and waits for the rest of us.

I'm next and I feel incredibly self-conscious as Olivia eyes me down for my size. I'm not very big to begin with, but now I feel like she might be judging me. Given she's got healthy proportions if not greater. It doesn't take long for her to pin me with a short, forest green, rolling suitcase. She gives me the same speech she delivered Noah before moving on.

Judith grips with her tiny, grimy fingers onto my jacket and whimpers, she's looking at Olivia and then her large, green eyes look back at me for reassurance. I murmur quietly to her while using the hand that doesn't support her to smooth back her pale hair. Olivia hands out clothes to Abraham and Rosita before coming back to me to try and find something for Judy.

"Now I can't forget this cutie. It's been a long time since I've seen a baby." Olivia bends down enough to get on Judith's level and smiles at her, trying to receive a reaction. This only causes Judith to cling tighter to me and to turn in towards my chest.

"Sorry," I shrug meekly, "She hasn't seen any new faces in a long time." Which is sort of true. She didn't give any particular reaction to Aaron or Eric that I'm aware of. But this whole experience is probably strange and scary for her, she's probably just anxious from that.

Olivia shrugs, understanding. She then goes to the end of the row of bags to pick through what must be various sizes of baby clothes. She comes back with a white and navy polka-dotted backpack, which I sling over my shoulder. We thank Olivia for the clothes and then she points the way out to us. We file down the hallway, muddy boot steps echoing off the floor. We all walk at a similar pace, the mark of being on the same mental page. We walk down the steps from the supply building, the remaining group members stand in a huddle, their backs facing out.

Rosita says she wants to wait for Eugene to get his clothes, and Abraham stays with her. Noah settles into a conversation with Tara so I decide to head out with Judy on my own.

I exit the gated courtyard and cut across a grassy lawn to reach the pavement. As I walk further from the gate it dawns on me that I haven't the slightest clue where my destination is. I look at Judy, who's sucking on her thumb and clinging to my jacket with her other hand, "Well Judy, you ready to head out on an adventure?" I'm mostly joking of course, this place can't be that big and I'm confident that I'll spot Carl or Rick somewhere. The wheels of the suitcase I'm rolling clack behind me as I move at a steady pace, staying on the paved road. I look over to my right and amongst the congregation of leafless trees is a small pond. The place looks so pristine it almost gives off a fake aura, from the immaculate lawns to the trimmed trees, not a speck of debris litters the ground, nor do vines and plants grow in places they aren't meant to.

"Excuse you," says a strange female voice. I stop dead in my tracks, startled and bothered. Even before I turn my head to face her, a pit forms in my stomach, I have not missed that snarky attitude. Judy gives an unsettled gurgle and I face the voice. A group of 4 girls stand before me, though looking about my age, none of them look a damn thing like me as far as physical wear. They each bear clean faces, mostly clear of acne; their hair isn't ratty, instead styled. The clothes they bear aren't torn and stained from various incidents and they give off a tone that isn't feared in typical sense one might think of in the present. Rather, they reek of pre-Turn bitch.

I face them without an ounce of inhibition, "Can I help you?" my gut digs at me, everything I know of in socialization terms begs me to back down, to duck my head, to walk away. But now, I've faced worse, whatever they want to throw at me, I can take it.

"You're new," the girl who originally spoke comments, her hair appears to be naturally curly in an auburn shade, it's pushed to one side of her head and her eyes stare right into me, their color a forest green, she looks at Judy, "Is she yours?"

My muscles tense up uncomfortably, "No, she's just a part of my group," I shrug.

"Oh you're in a group," her eyebrows dart up, "Any boys?"

Again I shrug, "There are males in my group, yes."

Suddenly her eyes dart toward my hand, "What's on your hand?" her nose crinkles in disgust. The other girls, apparently only capable of vocalizing themselves through her, give off similar reactions and various chorusing 'Ews'. I let go of my suitcase, not quite sure of what she means, I glance quickly at my hand it's stained red, probably from walker blood, underneath my nails are a reddish brown and my entire hand is darkened with dirt and dead skin. It occurs to me these girls might not be used to seeing people like me and my group every day.

"Blood," I say passively.

The girl stops looking at me like I'm prey and her mouth gapes a little in horror, "Why?"

"Killing walkers. When you're struggling to survive, you don't have time to wash your hands," I defend myself, trying to remain nonchalant even though I'm being to feel a little concerned.

"Who?" she just looks confused now.

My stomach wrenches, "You know, walkers? Biters? The flesh-eating monsters just outside your gate?"

There's that appalled look again, "How could you kill sick people, you freak?"

_Oh dear God, not Lizzie all over again._

"They're not sick," I try to explain, "When was the last time any of you were outside these walls?"

The girls just shrug, then their leader speaks, "Not for a couple years."

_Oh boy._

"Well, then take it from me, those 'people' are dead, not sick. All they want is food, and that food is you." I point at her.

"You better keep away, freak, because if you hurt any of us you'll regret it." she threatens

I look at her, making sure she's being serious, "I'll regret it?" I almost laugh, "You could learn a thing or two about the real world, hon. And the first thing you should know is, I'm not afraid of you. There are scarier things out there than high heeled bitches that think they want to rule the roost." and after a moment, I add quieter, "And I'm one of them." I grab my suitcase and push past the mob of girls in impractical shoes and continue on down the road until I spot Carl and Rick heading into a house.

As I get closer, they've already gone inside. I walk up onto a wooden porch and I open the door, catching it with my foot and then stepping through the entryway, a pile of sheets and blankets sits neatly folded in a pile in a stark white foyer. The colors standing out boldly against the contrast of the built in bench. My footsteps echo throughout the quiet house. I see Rick in the room ahead of me, he turns around at the sound of the door closing.

"I guess you'll be wanting Judith back, " I joke as Rick walks toward me. He nods with a small, half smile, taking Judy from my arms.

I swing the backpack from my back, "This is for her too, they gave it to me. I'm sure if y'all head back to the supply house, they'll give y'all clothes too." I say as Carl walks from the kitchen, nodding at me as greeting.

"Thank you, I'll head over there and pick up some stuff for him and I. Carl take your sister." Rick instructs. Carl carefully grabs his sister and then Rick walks past us and out the door.

The air settles, and the whole place is quiet, but it's the peaceful kind, I haven't felt this peaceful in a month or so, "This whole place is for our group?"

"And the place next door." Carl nods. My eyes widen in disbelief, "I know, it's crazy." Carl responds to my reaction.

"That's insane. You still think this place is legit?" I look at him with concern.

Carl shrugs, "I do. I mean, the people seem a little strange, but it all seems to check out, don't you think?"

I think of the girls who called me a freak for surviving, who didn't understand or seem any kind of empathetic to what it truly means to survive. No, Carl, that doesn't check out.

Just because those girls thought you were weird doesn't mean they share the mentality with the entire community.

I shrug back at him, "I mean their leader seems ok, I guess." I decide not to mention the girls. Or that I've threaten two people, one on camera, in one day. He wouldn't be happy about that.

Carl's eyes look over me carefully, their blueness absorbing every detail, and I can tell from the grave look in his eye that he can tell that I'm not telling him everything. So I just fake it, "So do they have showers here?"

Carl nods, "Warm water and everything, at least that's what Aaron told Dad and I."

The sense of impending guilt crushes my chest the longer I stand in front of him so I excuse myself in a series of unintelligible mumbles and tug around my suitcase, climbing the stairs. I find a restroom at the end of the hall with a nice shower and decide to make camp there. The shower is clear glass that slides open. The floors and walls of the shower are tan tiles. To the right of the door is a sink vanity, the solid surface is white, and I set the suitcase on top of it. There's a large mirror behind the vanity and I get a real look at myself for the first time in weeks and suddenly I understand where the word 'freak' might cross some people's minds. My cheeks are tanned with dirt and dead skin, the peeling kind that curls up around the edges after being sunburnt. Pinkish baby skin hides underneath, like a new gift to the world. The scrapes on my face and arms are mostly healed, but the biggest one has left a nasty scar, and my cheeks are hauntingly sunken in. Chunks of hair poke out messily from my beanie and they're not little strands, they're matted, tangled clumps that protrude haphazardly.

I bend down with a slight ache from my hip and I start to untie the knots in my shoes that have held for the past couple weeks. I lean back and fall onto my butt so I can work off my boot. It takes a little bit, but I manage to wiggle my foot off. I almost choke on the release of the odor from my shoes. I get the other boot off and then peel off my socks. They're stiff with sweat, I cringe before starting a pile of my dirty clothes. I stand up and peel off all my layers of clothing until all I see in the mirror is my bony form, the bruises across my chest and hip are fading but are present enough to sickeningly discolor my pale skin. The last thing I remove is my beanie, I toss that to the floor and my hair falls with it, a matted halo surrounding my head, the longest strands tickling the middle of my back, the shortest brushing my shoulders. My eyes fall from the glass, I can't stand the thought of how abominable I look, what would my parents think if they saw me now? I slide open the glass door and turn on the shower, the water turns from room temperature to hot in a few moments and I step into the water's stream.

It feels like it's been forever since I stood under the constant patter of a shower, I squint my eyes shut with the pure relief it gives me. For a while all I can do is stand there, enjoying myself, but then I remember what a precious resource water is, and I shouldn't waste such a gift as this one and I find a bottle of shampoo sitting on the floor of the shower, I pick it up and pour a decent amount of liquid into my palm, I scrub my scalp, globs of hair collect around my fingers as I do, I work as many tangles from my hair as possible and when I pull my fingers. The hair comes with it. I shut my eyes, and ball up all the hair into a single blob and set it on the floor. I take the bar of soap that sits on an alcove at about my shoulder height, I clean myself as best I can manage. The water that runs toward the drain is stained brownish-red and patches of dead skin float in the water like leaves in a river toward the shower drain. I rub my face and pick the grime from beneath my nails. There comes a point when I feel fresh again and that I can't become any cleaner, though this point comes long after the point of pruned fingers and toes and water running cooler than when I stepped in. I turn off the water and slide open the door. The temperature difference, which caused the fogging up of the glass doors hits me and I quickly grab my towel before shutting the door. I dry off, then wrap myself comfortably in the towel. I step out, my wet feet making noisy steps against the tile floors.

I open up the suitcase and begin to dig through its contents. They've really got a little bit of everything in here, socks and underwear, pants and tops, a black jacket, skirts and a dress. I can't imagine why I'd need those though, I'll probably cut off the lower part of the dress and turn it into a top or something. They've even got good winter clothes, gloves, a scarf, and a tan coat. I just settle for a pair of cargo style gray pants and a cream Henley. The pants are a little baggy on me, but I find a belt in the suitcase and solve that problem. I go ahead and wear the jacket because it looks warm and it's chilly outside. I dig through the cabinet drawers, discovering toothbrushes and toothpaste, deodorant, extra soap and shampoo, toilet paper, combs and brushes, towels, things I had put out of my mind for so long, they're treasures to find. Instinct tells me to stuff these items into my bag, but I remind myself I'm not on a run. This is my home now. Instead I brush my teeth for the first time in months and smile like an idiot the whole time.

When I finish, I can't stop running my tongue over my teeth, it feels so different and strange. But a good strange. I then start on the task of brushing my hair, even with all I pulled out during my shower, I still run into a lot of tangles. I quickly become fed up and develop a headache from trying to yank out all the knots. I take off in my socked feet in search of a pair of scissors. I hear the dull roar of voices downstairs and patter down the steps, I round the corner, and I pass the way to the kitchen. I spot a strange woman cutting someone's hair. I can't tell for the life of me who it is, maybe we're sharing this house with them? Though I feel like Carl would've mentioned that. I stop dead in my tracks and stare, they haven't noticed me yet. Something's not quite right, I narrow my eyes. They're quiet and the man in the chair's shoulders are sagged forward, as if they carry too much weight to bear any longer.

Then it dawns on me.

_That's Rick._

_But wait, where did his beard go?_

_Where did his shirt go?_

His shoulders are shielded with a towel, but he's clearly not wearing a shirt.

For the first time, I see Rick without a squirrel on his face. He must've showered too, because he's a lot paler than he was the last time I saw him.

I clear my throat, "Uh Rick?"

Both of them turn towards me and suddenly I feel like I'm intruding on something.

"Sam, this is Jessie," He nods at the woman, "Jessie, this is Sam, she's... friends with my son."

The woman smiles at me, she appears friendly enough, "Hi Sam, I've got a son about your age, if you'd like and it's ok with your parents I could introduce you."

I bite my lip in discomfort, I'm not here for small talk, "My parents are dead." I say quietly. Then, trying to keep up a mediocre facade, I ask what I came for, "Do you know where I might find some scissors?"

"Why do you need scissors?" Jessie raises her eyebrows questioningly.

I lift a chunk of hair, "I'm trying to get rid of some tangles."

For a moment I catch a look of surprise in her eyes, but she quickly adjusts, "You know, once I'm done with Rick here, I'd be happy to help you out." she offers politely. I give her a timid smile, but then my eyes dart to meet Rick's and he gives a minute nod, telling me she's ok.

"Sure," I nod, a tad bit reluctantly. I sit on one of the chairs that are at the table, and watch as Jessie finishes up Rick's haircut.

It's just a few moments before she pulls out a mirror and says, "That's better." she shows him his new haircut. He holds the mirror in his slightly shaky hand as though seeing himself for the first time. I look away, the look on his face is too chilling to look at any longer.

Jessie uses the towel to dust away any fallen hair, and Rick stands up, thanking her for the haircut and then setting the mirror onto the counter. I look at Rick and for the first time I wonder, am I looking at Carl 25 years in the future? Of course that's assuming we both live for 25 more years. Somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice tells me that this could be the place we are in 25 years. What would life be like then? I would still be with Carl I hope... would there be kids at that point?

I shake the thought from my head, it's stupid and unreasonable. I should live in the now. Speaking of which, Jessie is beckoning me to take a seat in the chair. I pad over to the chair and I gingerly sit down. She places the towel on my shoulders

"What can I do for you?" she has that genuinely sweet tone just like Beth used to have.

"Just cut out all the tangles I guess, they're too matted to brush through." I shrug indifferently

"Are you sure?" though I can't see her, I can hear it in her tone, she's concerned for me, as though she can already tell I'm not like her fundamentally.

"Yeah," I insist.

After a moment of what must be self-debate, she replies, "I'll see what I can do." she runs her fingers through my hair, trying to decide where to begin I suppose. Then she begins to comb it out, being as gentle as possible. I still cringe when she gets to the bigger tangles, but she gets more out then I could've. Then she brings out the scissors, she snips away at my hair and I try not to move.

"Have you attempted this 'cut off the tangles' plan before?" she asks

"No," I reply shortly

"Then how did your hair get cut so unevenly?" she pushes

"I was hit by a car, they had to cut away some of my hair," I stare ahead, not wanting to go into details.

The scissors stop, "A car?" she sounds almost baffled

"Mhm," I stare at the granite table tops

"Are.. are you ok?" she asks carefully

"Yeah," I remain passive. I consider pointing at the scar that slashes across my cheek, or the scratches that scatter across my arms, not quite yet healed. But I decide I've worried the poor lady enough.

After that brief conversation, words come to a standstill and she continues to snip at my hair in silence. My fingers tap against my knee as I stew uncomfortably in the silence, wondering how I could've changed so much over the past few weeks. I've never like conversing with strangers, but when I had to I generally didn't threaten them. Generally.

"There we go," Jessie finally says, disrupting the quiet. She hands me the hand mirror, and I see myself the reflection. She didn't just take out the tangles, most of my hair is gone. Granted, it's all even now, just brushing my shoulder, my part is deep. And I kinda like it to be honest.

"Thank you," I tell her, standing.

"No problem," she replies kindly, "I'm sorry about your parents, but if you'd like I can still introduce you to my son, Ron."

I don't particularly care to meet this Ron, but I hear my mother's voice in my head, "Maybe later, I'd really like to get settled in here. I'm really tired." and as soon as I say it, I know I'm not lying. I'm exhausted.

I escort Jessie out the door before collapsing on the living room couch. I lean my head back and shut my eyes, I can do that now, shut my eyes without worrying about walkers sneaking up on me and destroying my family. I feel a weight sit down on the other side of the couch, I peek open one eye and I see Carl. I open both eyes and sit up.

"Your hair is gone," he comments. He must've showered too, because now he smells good and his damp hair still clings to his cheeks and the back of his neck.

"Yeah," I nod, "Do you like it?" not that it matters whether or not he likes it; I can't just glue my ratty hair back on.

"I do," he smirks slightly, just enough to pull up the corner of his mouth, "It's a fresh start. I think we all need one of those right about now."


	70. Thankful

In today's day and age, you learn to be thankful for what you're given. Even if it doesn't seem like much. But some days it gets really hard to be thankful for even being alive. Like one day when you're thankful about having one can of food for 15 people. But then when that 15 turns to 14, it's so difficult to find something to be appreciative of. All in all though, I do think I'm thankful for what I've got.

Carl and I move our stuff to one of the upstairs bedrooms, it's not a matter of us sleeping together, it's a matter of conserving space, there's just too many of us for me to have my own room. I put my stuff in the dresser, and Carl puts his stuff in the closet. Though neither of us say anything about it, we both keep a set of clothes and other amenities in our bags, just in case. Carl sits down on the bed, making a comment about a nap or something, I can hardly blame him, my eyes still are heavy with exhaustion. I leave him to nap in our room and I walk down the stairs, finding no one else down there, except for the person standing outside the screen door. It's Olivia with a box. I take a quick glance left and right, making sure I'm the only one down here, then she smiles and waves at me trying to catch my attention. I begrudgingly walk up to the door, opening it.

"Hi again," Olivia begins, "I brought your group some food for tonight, you'll get more later, but this should get you all through the night." I stare shocked at the large box. Cans upon cans catch my eyes, in addition to air tight bags of what appears to be meat, a box of pasta, 2 jars of preserves, a partially full bag of flour, and more.

"Tonight?" I ask, trying to get a better grasp on words, "All of this, just for tonight?" Granted we were a large group, but even so the contents of this box could've kept us going for a couple days or so if we were careful.

Considering a different option, "How often do y'all eat? Like how many meals a day?"

Olivia appears slightly confused at the question, I almost feel bad for her, she doesn't realize how hard it is out there, "3 meals, breakfast, lunch, and dinner." I decide not to mention we'd go a day or so without eating on the worst days.

"That's amazing, thank you so much," I tell her earnestly, taking the box from her. It's quite heavy. I can feel my mouth watering already.

"Before you go," Olivia cuts in, "I couldn't help but notice your limp when you walked up. Were you born with that or did something happen?"

Oh great, not this story again, "It was an accident." I tell her plainly.

"You met Jessie right?" I nod indicating that I have, "Well her husband is a surgeon, you should talk to your parents about visiting him. He could really help you out." I decide to spare the poor lady the gory details of my dead family, and nod like I care. I can't help but wonder what I'd have to do in return for a doctor to look at me, to get medicine. Nothing comes without a price. I say goodbye and shut the door with my foot. Michonne is standing silently in the kitchen now.

As I walk over I notice the uneven gait in my steps more than I have in a long time. I'd come to ignore the fact that I couldn't walk normally, limping felt normal. I can attribute that to not being able to rest my body for well over a month, between the running and endless miles of walking, my body simply learned to block out most of the pain when I didn't have medicine anymore. The process of adjusting wasn't a pretty one, but I'm still here today and that's all I care about.

I lift the box slightly, "That lady Olivia dropped this by for us, she said it's for dinner tonight." Michonne's eye grow at the sight of all the food.

"Just for tonight?" she asks, reflecting exactly how I felt.

I nod excitedly, my mouth watering at the thought of eating again.

"Find Carol, I'm going to need some help with all of this," Michonne grins, taking the box from me. I nod obediently and start for the stairs, I take them so fast my hip aches more than usual. There's just something exciting about food.

I find Carol folding clothes in one of the bedrooms. The clothes she's folding aren't clothes I'd expect for Carol to wear, flowered sweaters, tame cardigans, neatly pressed button-ups. She's obviously taken a shower because her face and hands are cleaned of all the dirt, dead skin, and God knows what else. She's still dressed how I'd expect her to, a maroon Henley and cargo pants. I lean against the door frame, pushing the other side with my arm. She turns toward me, "What do you need, Sam?"

"Olivia brought us food, a lot of food, Michonne said she needs you to help her cook it all."

Carol raises a cautious eyebrow, "If it's a lot of food, why would we eat all of it tonight?"

I shrug, "Olivia just said it was for tonight, it was more than I've seen in a while, isn't it great?"

Carol's mouth draws to a line for a moment and then she smiles at me, "Yes, it is great. I'll head down to help her as soon as I finish up here."

I nod and walk off, past all the bedroom doors, I spot Carl, apparently awake now, he's got his knife drawn as he creeps toward the nook past the doors.

"Carl," I hiss, he whips around and places a finger to his mouth before turning back around and taking another careful step towards the nook. I follow behind, taking advantage of my sock feet until I'm right behind him, there's another door I hadn't noticed before, it's shut and all alone. Carl lifts a hand, signaling for me to stay put. I rest my heels on the ground, heart thumping anxiously in my chest. My hand instinctively goes to where my knife sharpener should be, but I left it in my room. Carl twists the door knob slowly and silently, then he rips the door open and I bite my tongue, mentally preparing for the worst. I look past Carl to find an empty attic space, Carl's hand with the knife falls to his side as steps inside, I follow closely, taking in every surrounding.

The room is unfinished, with wood walls and plywood floor. Books scatter the ground, not just novels, comic books as well. Drawings and colored pencils sit in one corner. There's a pillow and a blanket propped up for anyone to sit comfortably. It's clear, someone's been using this as a hang out. Something catches my eye beside the pillow, at about shoulder level if one was sitting, is an engraving into the wall, probably made with a knife. I step a little closer as Carl checks out the other side of the room, JSS, is inscribed in the wall. JSS, I wonder, initials perhaps? I kneel on the blanket, my fingers outstretched at the carving. It's splintery to the touch, I withdraw my hand and my mouth puckers trying to figure out what else it could be.

Carl says my name and I turn around, whatever it is, it's not important.

"Hmm?" I reply, standing up.

He studies me for a moment, but he doesn't ask about the letters, "Isn't this great?" his eyebrows lift excitedly, and he looks over at the stack of comic books. I can only smile in response, that silly boy.

"Yeah, it's fantastic," I agree, I proceed to tell him about the only thing right now that may be better than this, the mountain of food being prepared downstairs. His eyes light up in a way that makes my heart ache. It makes me thankful that we found this place, that we're deciding to give it a chance. I bite my lip and smirk at him before grabbing one of the novels on the ground and I toss a comic book in his direction, he catches it and I yank him beside me on the blanket, our backs pressed against the pillow. I look at him and I can't force the smile to leave my cheeks. Carl wears a lazy smirk as he looks at me, and then kisses my cheek briefly, before opening up the comic book. I'm still smiling as I open the book, it rests in my lap, and the pages are worn enough to stay open on their own, so I turn pages with one hand and the other one meets Carl's hand and our fingers interlace.

We sit like that in a comfortable silence until I hear shouting downstairs. At first it jolts me from my lethargic stupor, but then my ears recognize this isn't the panicked yelling I always dread, rather it's relaxed, calling the group for dinner. It makes me think of before the apocalypse and my family, I look over at Carl who's setting down his comic and I remind myself I still have family. I set down my book and Carl pulls me up to my feet. We clamber down the steps and find the rest of the group in the kitchen. You can almost feel the glow in the room as a few insinuating comments are made about us being late to dinner. We shake them off as my eyes meet the feast of food on the island.

It smells phenomenal, I had almost forgotten there were good smells left, ones that don't reek of death and filth. I can hardly keep myself from drooling as my stomach gargles insistently, for once I'll be able to satisfy the urgent calls from my gut. Everyone grabs a plate and walks around the island, grabbing a little bit of everything. I skip out on the cooked carrots and Carl teases me for it, but I take his share of the collard greens, which he expressed disinterest in. I can hardly believe that I'm seeing fresh baked bread, I take a slice and it's still warm in my palm. The adults drink wine, but I gladly accept a clean glass of water.

There isn't a table big enough to seat a group of our size in the house, so we go to the living room, Carl and I sit on the ground beside Noah, Tara and Eugene. Glenn and Maggie opt for the couch. Some of the others, like Rick, Michonne and Daryl remain standing as they eat, others sit in various places on the ground or on other pieces of furniture, like Abraham who leans against the arm of a nice chair that Rosita sits in. The air is warm and happy, and though everyone is too caught up in this amazing meal, we're all enjoying ourselves. Judith sits in her new crib, Rick mentioned something about feeding her before the rest of us. I can tell by the content look in her eyes. She has toys in her new crib, she holds one of them now, gnawing on the ear of a stuffed lion.

I eat until my stomach aches, and even then, I don't stop. The taste of the salted meat is some of the best I've had since the prison. I swear, I could eat collard greens forever.

"For such a small girl, you really know how to put it down, huh?" Tara teases as I swallow another forkful of greens. I grin sheepishly with my mouthful and it causes the room to burst into laughter. I duck my eyes, and try to swallow the huge mouthful.

Carl looks at me, a grin so wide the corner of his eyes crinkle up, he reaches over and rubs his thumb across the back of my hand. The look in his eye makes me feel warm inside and I smile back.

Maybe not everything in this world is wonderful and good, but there's enough good left to see the value in it. If I'm approximating months correctly, it's early December, which means we technically missed Thanksgiving, but this feeling I have right here, right now, with these people I care about. They make dates irrelevant. I've never been more thankful of everything around me. They make this a real Thanksgiving.


	71. Stronger Than Blood

As a child my parents made it very clear to me that family was more important and was stronger than any other bond. _Friends are one thing_, they'd tell me. _But family is forever, those are the people who stick by your side through thick and thin. Those are the people you'd do anything for_. But to my parents, family was your blood. The people you came from genetically. The thing about that is you don't pick your family. You don't choose your weird uncle who farms goats and trades stamps. You don't pick your alcoholic, deadbeat cousin who landed themselves in Juvi at the ripe age of 13 and continued that reputation into their late twenties. _They're family!_ My parents would scold me whenever I complained about having to visit with those _interesting_ individuals at holidays or similar events. I guess I didn't really fully understand what family really meant until after the Turn, but now I know perhaps too well what the true meaning of family is.

The night of merriment and good vibes draws to close after a time period that feels both like an eternity and entirely not long enough. Though everyone has placed their belongings in their rooms in two different houses, it was agreed upon that at least for tonight we all sleep in the same house. I find myself assisting Carol with the dishes and cleaning up after the night's meal. There isn't much food left over, but we pack up what is. We store the perishables in the stainless steel refrigerator and everything else in the pantry. The pantry is a pristine white, like most things in this house. The shelves tower high, the tallest above my head. As I place spices on the shelf, unused cans catch my eye. Despite the fact that Olivia told us we'd only need this food for tonight, our group isn't foolish, we know the value of food. The cans that have been set aside are enough to feed our group for a day or so, if we ration it out right. I don't mention it to Carol though; it's one of those things that don't require words.

Once the kitchen is clean, Carol releases me even though she never actually made me help her in the first place. It was what felt right, it reminded me of the prison. When I thought we were safe. I walk back into the living room, and it's clear that we've taken over. People are setting up pallets to sleep on. The model home-like feel that the living room had previously given out has evaporated. Now it's starting to feel more like a home. My eyes fall on the person who is the physical embodiment of home to me. Carl. He's sitting at a wooden table with Judith. They're playing together and the image causes a stray smile finds its way on to my face. Judy's been given a bath and her mop of curly dirty blonde hair is shiny with life instead of heavy with grease. Her soft complexion is glowing and pale like the moon. One bath and a clean pair of clothes makes her look a hundred times healthier. She's standing up on a clean blanket covered in a ladybug pattern. Her small fists are clenched tightly around a couple of Carl's fingers to support her. Judith looks proud of herself for getting this far and Big Brother Carl beams with a pride that shines brighter than the candles that light the room. There is electricity here, but conservation of said electricity is strongly encouraged. I sit down next to Carl, our knees bump against each other. We play with Judith for a little while, but she soon grows sleepy. Rick takes her from Carl over to her crib. He then tucks her in for a long deserved rest, something we're all looking forward to. At least those of us who can sleep.

Judy falls asleep and Carl and I pull out a comic book and a novel respectively. The longer I turn pages, the heavier my eyes get. The weight of the day is hitting me hard. My body demanding for more than just a few winks of sleep. I get to the point where I'm turning pages without really reading the words in front of me. I resign to my exhaustion and close the hardback. I look up at Carl and his expression wears the same fatigue that I feel. I reach over and place my hand over his.

"I think it's about time we turn in," my words become warped as they get lost in a yawn.

The corner of Carl's mouth turns up in a smirk and the look in his eyes makes me blush. He takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips, they brush against the back of my hand gently. He stands up and pulls me to my feet. We grab a couple of blankets and look for an empty place on the floor. We find room enough for the two of us in front of Judith's crib. I sit down next to Carl, who's spread one of his blankets on the ground to soften the hardwood for both of us. I spread my blanket over my legs and let out a tired sigh. I look over at Carl who has his face in his hands rubbing his tired eyes.

The rest of the group is scattered around the room. Michonne and Rick are talking to each other; she's finally come out of the bathroom after brushing her teeth for a really long time. But who can blame her really? Carol is scribbling on a pad of paper. I'm not sure what's going through her mind, but she's acting strange and it's unsettling. Maggie and Glenn exchange gazes. Maggie clings to clean linens while Glenn is taking one of the couch cushions probably for them to use as pillow. Abraham and Sasha are acting as lookouts at different windows. Rosita fiddles with a blanket mindlessly beside the fireplace and Eugene sits next to her, preparing his spot to sleep in for the night.

Suddenly there's a knock at the door and my eyes shoot over to the door nervously. It's dark, who could possible want to visit? Rick goes to the door and reveals Deanna on the other side.

"Rick I-" Deanna stops mid-sentence and stares at Rick's bare face, clearly as caught off guard as everyone else in our group, "Wow." she chuckles after a moment. Rick lets out an unenthused groan, clearly over the shock factor of his beardless cheeks. "I didn't know what was under there. Listen I don't mean to interrupt, I just wanna stop by and see how you're all settling-" Her eyes shift over to us. And she stops, once again, startled. "Oh my. Staying together. Smart." she remarks. Clearly though, this sets off some kind of alarm in her head. She seems more guarded now as she interacts with us, taking us all in. Sizing us up for our worth.

"No one said we couldn't." Rick points out.

Deanna tries to appear friendly as she leans slightly closer towards Rick, but I see right through her maneuver. "You said you're a family. That's what you said. Absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that. Don't you think?"

I sit up a little straighter and for a moment my eyes shift to Carl who gives my hand a slight squeeze. She's damn right. We are a family, bonds strengthened by struggle and turmoil. Family doesn't end at bloodlines.

Rick changes the subject, not showing any kind of sentiment for that could be misconceived as weakness. And we are not weak.

"Everyone said you gave them jobs." A twinge of confusion hits my gut; Deanna never mentioned anything about a job to me. Did I do something wrong? Did my smart mouth and short temper send me out of that room before she could tell me my job? Did I fail some kind of test disguised as an interview?

Deanna confirms this to Rick and Rick's expression shifts. His eyebrows narrowed slightly and his jaw shifted forward, "Part of this place," she explains, "looks like the communists won after all." she jokes. One glance at Rick and I know that both of us see through her friendly facade.

Rick shifts some more, "Well you didn't give me one."

Deanna smirks, "I have. I just haven't told you yet. Same with Michonne. I'm closing in on something for Sasha. And I'm just trying to figure Mr. Dixon out. But I will." her tone lifts, "You look good." she comments as she turns to walk out the door.

Rick shuts the door and after an uncomfortable few moments of silence, everyone slowly goes back to their business. Carl lies down on his back and releases my hand, his arms folding across his chest. His eyes close and after a few minutes his breathing evens out. My body begs my brain to follow Carl's example, the adrenaline boost from the unexpected visitor fizzles away. Several others are lying down for the night. I tell myself that it's ok to sleep. It's finally time to sleep for more than an hour or so. There won't be any jumping up in the middle of the night to run from walkers anymore. I ease back, my forever sore body complaining slightly. I turn on my side, my body tucked towards Carl. I use his shoulder to rest my head on. I shut my eyes and I let the world fade to black.

That night I dream for the first night in what feels like forever.

I'm on one of those endless strips of pavement that our group walked for miles on, a wall of giant trees on each side of the road. This time though, there's no one with me. It's just me and my backpack. I even have my old knife back. I clasp it tightly in my hand as I walk along the bleak road, not once to I cross paths with another soul. Suddenly I hear a rustle in the leaves, my head spins around. And then I see them. So so many of them. Walkers. They pour out of both sides of the roads, spilling past the trees and tripping over the asphalt. Their moans for food flood my ears. I'm paralyzed at the realization that I am that food. I take off further down the road, running as far from the horde as I can, going as fast as my feet can carry me.

"Sam!" A cry bleeds through the roar of moans for my blood. My heart pounds in my chest as I turn around again. This time I see the walkers stumbling towards me, but at a greater distance. The catch? They're no longer after me. They're after Carl and... and my brother.

"Noah!" I call out, mostly in disbelief. My little brother. I haven't seen his face in so long. Even at a distance I can see the youth and innocence in his expression. He hasn't been truly touched by the nightmare that is the waking world. The slight naivety he wears is what twists the horror in his eyes into an entirely new monster. He died a child soldier, hardly trained to kill people. He knew what walkers were. He knew how to kill them but he only ever killed a few in his too-short life. He'd never seen a herd, much less been surrounded by one.

He and Carl both are surrounded to be exact.

"You have to save them Sam." I hear a voice over my shoulder. I spin back around, Deanna. Her eyes are cold as they rest on me indifferently, "But you can only choose one."

I stop breathing for a moment. The air in my lungs refusing to leave or welcome a fresh breath in. I look at Deanna in horror. How can I only choose one of them to live? It's clear whoever I don't pick will die.

"Choose." her voice is as cold as her gaze.

I turn around. My gaze flits back and forth as the walkers draw closer.

"Sam!" Carl shouts, "Help me! I don't have my gun!"

"Sam!" my little brother cries, "The monsters are gonna get me! Don't let the biters get me!"

"Sam! I gotta get back to Judy!"

"Sam! Mama's back at Woodbury!"

"Sam!" their cries become one and the walkers are practically on top of them now.

"You have to choose now or they both die." Deanna commands. I can practically feel the chill over my shoulder.

I swallow hard, my fists clenched. I charge toward the herd.

_Family doesn't end at bloodlines._

_Family is forever, those are the people who stick by your side through thick and thin. Those are the people you'd do anything for._

I watch from the corner of my eye as the walkers tear my little brother apart. I force myself to look away as I tear into the crowd of walkers after Carl.

I wake with a start. The dream still vivid in my mind. It's dark still, middle of the night I'd guess. I hear shifting in front of me. I don't move, but I keep one eye cracked open. I watch Rick's silhouette stand, the moonlight back-lighting him. He lifts the blanket at Carl's feet and covers him. He does the same to Noah who's on Carl's other side. He then walks into the kitchen. I sit up, my eyes still trying to adjust to the darkness. He turns and I can't see him anymore. I close my eyes and listen closely. I hear the slight clinking of metal and bite my tongue anxiously. What the hell could he be doing? I hear footsteps and I quickly lie back down, returning to my original position.

I lie down too quickly and Carl stirs in his sleep. I hear the jolt in his breath. He opens his eyes and looks at me, but I don't think he's awake enough to realize I'm looking back at him. He sluggishly leans over and kisses my forehead. He moves one of his arms that had been resting on his chest and uses it to hold me closer to him. A few moments later he's lost to the conscious world again. Rick walks back in and I can feel him looking at us. It's a good thing it's dark because I know I'm blushing. I hear his sigh and he walks back over to where he was resting earlier. I shut my eyes, and it's not long before I find myself drifting back to sleep.

I've made my decision and I know that the true meaning of family is something that is stronger than blood.


	72. Getting By

**A/N: Hey guys! I've got two announcements for y'all and then y'all carry on with your reading :)**

**1\. If you haven't noticed by now, I updated the cover for Sam. The image was submitted by the lovely CopperMax, complete credit goes to her for her amazing artwork! Also if anyone else for whatever reason has Sam artwork, PM me, I'd love to see it!**

**2\. THIS ONE IS A HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT THAT I'M EXTREMELY EXCITED TO SHARE WITH Y'ALL! I've been working with another amazing writer, kornerbrandon, and he and I are cowriting a Walking Dead/Last of Us crossover fic. It's called It's centered around Ellie and Carl (yes they end up together). It is set in the Walking Dead Universe and starts from the beginning of season 1. PLEASE GO CHECK IT OUT! The first part of the prologue is out now, and it's on my profile page now. So as soon as you're done reading THIS chapter, GO READ IT! Also review it! I wanna know what y'all think :)**

**As always, please review, I wanna hear y'all's thoughts about the chapter. The more helpful, the better. HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY! And don't forget to check out Just When I Thought It Couldn't Get Any Worse.**

* * *

Outside of these walls, getting by was all we could ask for. Being able to get up and walk for the day and waking up the next morning. That was getting by. Eating when we could, running when we had to. It wasn't pretty and by no means easy. My dad would've said it builds character, learning how to tough it out like that. Even when death stares you in the face, beckons you to give in, you don't. You stick up your nose to death and take a pass on his offer. Inside the walls, however, that shifts the meaning of getting by completely.

I wake up the next morning, and in that small moment before I open my eyes I forget where I am. The smell of frying meat alarms my senses and my eyes fly open. I'm greeted with the surroundings of the strange house that I now call home. I sit up and look around, blinking madly trying to get my eyes to focus. When they do, I find Carl and Noah are still passed out to one side of me. On the other I see movement in the kitchen, most of the adults are in there, their various conversations ring as a dull roar in my ears.

The sun streams brightly through the windows this morning. First the first time in ages I feel almost rested. I look down at Carl, his head tossed to the side and hair covering his face. One of his hands is still resting on his chest, which rises and falls with an even rhythm. The corners of my mouth twitch in a slight smile. I rest my hand on top of his and gently rub my thumb across the back of his hand. He's so peaceful like this, I'm tempted to let him sleep. But in the back of my head I know that the adults have let us sleep long enough. We can't waste the day sleeping. "Carl," my voice hardly louder than a whisper. I repeat his name, getting a little louder each time. He jolts awake with a quick inhale of air and his eyes flutter open.

"Is that bacon I smell?" he mumbles skeptically.

I chuckle, shaking my head in amusement, "Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty. Maybe if you get up we can go find out."

Carl sits up with a yawn, he turns to Noah, "Noah, man. Wake up there's food." his voice louder than mine ever was.

Noah mutters something unintelligible and we continue to encourage him to get up. Finally he gives and we all go into the kitchen.

"Well it's about time," Daryl teases the three of us, "thought y'all was gonna sleep the whole day away."

Carol's at the stove, frying what does indeed look like bacon. My stomach growls at the smell of it, "If you kids give me a minute there'll be some bacon ready for you. Help yourself to some of the bread that was left over from last night." she nods her head towards the island where there's a little less than half a loaf of homemade bread sitting there. We each cut ourselves a slice and nibble on it until the bacon is ready. Most of the adults have already eaten or are currently eating. A couple sip mugs of coffee. Tara seems particularly enthused about her mug. She must have missed such a luxury. Rick is feeding Judith her breakfast of applesauce, which Judy seems perfectly content with this.

"So what are we doing today?" Carl looks at Michonne. She's munching on a strip of bacon and holds a cup of coffee in her other hand.

She swallows her bite before answering Carl, "I think we should all get out and explore the place. We should really get our eyes on the community," she takes a swig of her coffee, "meet our neighbors. That kind of thing."

"What do ya think, Rick?" Daryl asks, the loner clearly doesn't appeal to the idea of socialization.

Michonne casts Rick a warning glance, you shouldn't cross a katana-wielding badass. This is something Rick knows. After a moment he says carefully chosen words, "I think that it would be a good idea for some of us to scout out the place." He looks at Daryl clarifying that the man doesn't have to go if he doesn't want to.

I certainly don't want to, and the qualifier "some" means that I don't have to. I feel as though this community has enough interaction with me as it is. The last thing I need to do is scare_ more_ people.

Carl looks at me, "You wanna finish up here and head out? We could take Judy for a walk?" He looks so earnest about it, it makes me feel guilty. But the last thing that I need is for me to be walking with him and Judy in a stroller and those four girls I met yesterday show up. That's just a cat fight waiting to happening.

I shrug meekly, "I'm not sure if I really wanna go out today."

Carl's brow furrows and his eyes scan me, looking for an explanation. I finish eating and leave the kitchen, not wanting to be asked anymore questions. I go up to the room Carl and I are staying in. I settle on the bed with my novel. I've hardly opened the book when Carl walks in. He sits next to me on the other side of the bed. I look up from my book, "What are you doing?"

He shrugs, "If you're staying here then so am I."

I roll my eyes at his somewhat chivalrous gesture, "No you're not."

He crosses his arms and juts his chin out in a matter-of-fact fashion, "Yes I am."

"No. You're not." I shove him lightly towards the edge of the bed, "Take Judy on that walk. I'll be fine." I reach over and rest my hand on his forearm, "I promise Sheriff."

He bites his lip and his light blue eyes lock with mine. He lets out a small sigh and stands up. He looks over at his hat which is perched on top of the dresser. He considers it for a moment, like he might grab it. He doesn't though, but he does stop by me and kisses my forehead, "Don't have too much fun without me." I roll my eyes.

"Same goes for you," I tease. I pull him back by the shirt collar and give him a quick peck on the lips. He turns that peck into more and it really hits me how I've missed being able to be like this. We can actually have a relationship instead of worrying about surviving until tomorrow. After a couple minutes I pull away, "I believe your sister is waiting on you?" My lips can't help but curl into a smile.

He sighs and settles for one more peck, "I'll see you later bookworm." And he heads out the door. I read for a few minutes and then remember the attic space and decide to go there.

The house is quiet now, everyone must've left. I can't remember the last time I was alone. It must have been in the prison. I remember my spot in the prison. God it feels like years since I've sat there and watched the walkers paw at the gates. Their constant moans, begging to be let in. I've found new walls now. A new place to be alone in. I sit in the attic space, my back leaning against a throw pillow. I crack open my book once more. Reading like this puts my mind at ease. I feel muscles in my shoulders that have been tensed for a long time begin to relax.

"Who are you?" A new voice speaks up. I instinctively fumble for my weapon, but it's not there. I look up at the total mercy of whoever snuck up on me.

It's a girl. The girl I saw the window of that abandoned house outside the walls. She's about my age but taller. Her hair is long and dark brown. In the light, her eyes are a bluish-gray similar to my eye color but without the hints of green. There's more to her eyes than color, there's aging beyond her years. She's thin like me and I know that no matter how long she's been here, it hasn't been enough to fill out what she lost. I know instantly that she's like me, she's a survivor. She's not like those girls I met yesterday. That also means she's dangerous. I don't let down my guard.

"My group and I arrived yesterday." I'm not sure if I want to tell her my name yet.

The girl nods slightly, her eyes narrowed as she studies me, "I figured. New people don't come here too often." Though she's doing most of the talking, her tone is cold and guarded. We study each other, neither of us saying anything. She gives off an air, that's hard to place but I relate to it well.

"You're an orphan, aren't you?" I say at last.

Her brow creases, she's taken aback, "How did you- why would you think that?"

_Huh. I was right. Lucky guess._ I shrug at her, glad I've got the upper hand. I've caught her off guard.

Suspicion radiates from her like a furnace, "You haven't been here for a whole day, how did you hear that?" she demands.

"No one told me?" I suggest innocently, "I can just... tell."

Her scowl doesn't fade, "Are you?" she asks. She doesn't specify, but she doesn't have to.

I nod, "I'm part of the dead parents club." The girl gets a small chuckle out of that.

"Enid." she says, "My name is Enid. Now what's yours?"

Ah. Dead parents are such a great icebreaker.

"Sam. Now what are you doing here?" I turn the question back to her.

"This is my space. All this stuff is what Ron, Mikey, and I found and put here." Enid informs me.

What she says makes sense, I can't deny that. I can't just tell her that it's our house now and so all this belongs to us now. I'm still not convinced that she won't hurt me. I make a noise that's resemblant to a cough, "Oh," I spit out awkwardly, "Well, um, our group is occupying this house now so..." I trail off. I'm not going to threaten her. I'm not going to start a fight. Passivity and awkwardness is how I'm gonna make it through this situation.

"I'll take my comics then, at the very least." she walks over and snags the pile to my right. The book in my lap must catch her eye, "You read?"

I look up at her and give her a look of disbelief, "Yes?"

"You had time to read while you were out there?" she raises her eyebrows.

"Not when we were on the road. Not much at least." I shrug.

She nods, understanding. She clears her throat, "Are you the one that, uh, ran into Megan yesterday?"

I have a feeling I know what she's talking about. For a second I worry that Enid is buddy-buddy with that bitch. I decide that my hardcover will have to make an adequate weapon, "Who?"

"You know? Perfect hair? Heels? The one who actually talks, not the lackeys." the tense expression on her face is enough for me to know that we've got the same opinion on this Megan girl.

"Ah yes, I remember her," my brow creases, "How did you know about that?"

"Word travels. She's practically telling the whole town about how you threatened her life." Enid scoffs at the last part of the sentence.

I raise my eyebrows and smirk, "Is that so? If that what she considers a threat, she really should watch her step."

The amusement drops from Enid's face as she shakes her head, "No, you're the one who needs to watch out. Here, the monsters outside the walls aren't the ones you have to worry about. It's the ones who are inside it. You may be able to make it out there, but here, it's still politics and pretty faces. Survival has a whole different meaning."

I find it utterly ridiculous that those social rules can still apply in this world, "I'm not gonna let her push me around, especially when I can beat the crap out of her. I'm sorry that I made it known that I'm not to be messed with."

Enid looks apologetic, "I get it, but that's not the way the game is played here." she heads back toward the window she appeared from, "Nice to meet you, Sam. And for your own sake, watch out." She shimmies through the small opening of the window, and just like that she's gone again.

I finally get to read for longer than 10 minutes without being interrupted. If I had to guess, it was probably about an hour before I was interrupted again.

"There you are," I look up and see Carl standing in the doorway. I extend my arm and wave him over. He walks over and takes my hand in his, he squeezes it firmly. It's almost like he's afraid to let go.

"How was the walk?" I ask him, my eyes scanning him.

He breaks into a half-hearted smirk, "It was... fun."

I roll my eyes, he's practically dripping bullshit right now, "No really Carl, don't mess with me. Did something happen?"

He gnaws anxiously on his bottom lip, "They're so different from us," he says finally.

I nod, understanding. Different doesn't even begin to cover it.

"There are actually kids our age, Sam. Do you know how weird that is? They go to school. _School._ Can you imagine? They've been going to school and playing video games in here all this time. And what were we doing? Struggling to survive." Carl's posture shifts drastically as his sentence goes on. By the end of it his fists are tightly clenched by his sides and his brow furrowed.

I get his anger, I do. Trust me, it makes my blood boil that those stuck-up bitches haven't had their fair share of the real world. But when Carl gets mad like this, fanning the flame isn't something I should be doing.

"Hey, hey." I grab one of his hands, His knuckles are practically white they're so tightly clasped. I pull his hand down, indicating for him to sit. Once he does, I take both of his hands in mine, "Look at me." I say firmly, Carl's caught off guard by the shift in my tone, "It's not like they had a choice. They're lucky. I'm sure if our parents had a choice, they'd have wanted this for us in a heartbeat." my eyes are locked on his and I use the most gentle voice I can come up with, "Actually," I reconsider my former statement,

"We're the lucky ones. We have the experience they don't. When the inevitable shit hits the fan here, we'll know how to handle it. Those kids probably don't know how to shoot a gun. Hell, they probably don't even know how to take down a walker. They'll be the first to die if those walls fall. Our struggles helped create our strengths. If anything, we should feel bad for those kids."

Carl's eyes flit away and he looks down, "Yeah... it's just so weird. And we have to adjust to them. I don't wanna go soft, Sam. I want us to be safe, this place is good, don't get me wrong. But I don't ever wanna go as soft as them. It's dangerous."

I nod in agreement, "So we don't go soft. We just don't eat tree bark for a meal every other day. We go to school and learn, but we also keep an eye out for hell breaking loose. We make sure that Judith gets the upbringing she deserves. We don't have to go soft, we just don't have to struggle to get by."


End file.
